Ktrj..giamawBi».r,«lTOlH>-»il«l«^.--J«ta,. 


■M 


HOBSON'S  CHOICE 


VOLUME  XIV 
The  Drama  League  Series  of  Plays 


VOLUMES  IN 
THE  DRAMA  LEAGUE  SERIES  OF  PLAYS 


C"  I. — Kindling By  Charles  Kenyon 

II.— A  Thousand  Years  Ago.       By  Percy  MacKaye 

III.— The  Great  Galeoto  .     .        By  Jose  Echegaray 

y  IV. — The  Sunken  Bell  .     .     By  Gerhart  Hauptmann 

V. — Mary  Goes  First       .     By  Henry  Arthur  Jones 

VI. — Her  Husband's  Wife     .     .     By  A.  E.  Thomas 

VII. — Change By  J.  0.  Francis 

VIII. — Marta  of  the  Lowlands    .    By  Angel  Guimerd 

IX. — Patrie! By  Victorien  Sardou 

X.— The  Thief By  Henry  Bernstein 

XI.— My  Lady's  Dress  .     .     .By  Edward  Knoblauch 

XII.— The  Trail  of  the  Torch     .     By  Paul  Hervieu 

XIIL— A  Woman's  Way     .     .  By  Thompson  Buchanan 

^  XIV.— Hobson's  Choice    .     .        By  Harold  Brighouse 

XV. — The  Apostle      .     .    By  Paul  Hyacinthe  Loyson 

XVL— Youth        By  Max  Halhe 

XVII. — A  False  Saint    .     .    .     .By  Frangois  de  Curel 


Other  Volumes  in  Preparation 


HOBSON'S    CHOICE 


A  THREE-ACT  COMEDY 


BY 

HAROLD  BRIGHOUSE 


WITH  AN   INTRODUCTION   BY 

B.  IDEN  PAYNE 


Garden  City  New  York 

DOUBLEDAY.  PAGE  &  COMPANY 

1916 


Copyright,  1916,  by 
DOUBLEDAY,  PaGE  &  CoMPANY 


In  its  present  form  this  play  is  dedicated  to  the  reading 
public  only,  and  no  performances  of  it  may  be  given, 
except  by  special  arrangement  with  the  owner  of  the 
acting  rights,  who  may  be  addressed  in  care  of  the 
publishers. 

Section  28. — That  any  person  who  wilfully  and  for  profit  shall 
infringe  any  copyright  secured  by  this  Act,  or  who  shall  know- 
ingly and  wilfully  aid  or  abet  such  infringement,  shall  be 
deemed  guilty  of  a  misdemeanor,  and  upon  conviction  thereof 
shall  be  punished  by  imprisonment  for  not  exceeding  one  year 
or  by  a  fine  of  not  less  than  one  hundred  dollars  nor  more  than 
one  thousand  dollars,  or  both,  in  the  discretion  of  the  court. 

Section  29. — That  any  person,  who,  with  fraudulent  intent, 
shall  insert  or  impress  any  notice  of  copyright  required  by  this 
Act,  or  words  of  the  same  purport,  in  or  upon  any  uncopyrighted 
article,  or  with  fraudulent  intent  shall  remove  or  alter  the  copy- 
right notice  upon  any  article  duly  copyrighted  shall  be  guilty 
of  a  misdemeanor,  punishable  by  a  fine  of  not  less  than  one 
hundred  dollars  and  not  more  than  one  thousand  dollars. — Act  of 
March  4,  1909. 


PRl 


9003 


U 


INTRODUCTION 

Doubtless  because  the  majority  of  his  earlier  plays 
were  produced  at  the  Gaiety  Theatre,  Manchester, 
and,  perhaps  more  particularly,  because  HohsorCs 
Choice,  his  first  long  play  to  be  given  in  America,  is 
a  study  of  Lancashire  life,  the  work  of  Harold  Brig- 
house  seems  to  be  too  closely  identified  with  that  of 
Miss  Horniman's  Repertory  Company.  This  is 
regrettable  only  insofar  as  it  tends  to  give  the  impres- 
sion that  all  his  plays  have  a  local  character.  Ac- 
tually the  sixteen  plays,  long  and  short,  which  have 
already  been  performed  cover  a  wide  range  in  setting 
and  subject,  and  out  of  this  number  only  five  have  a 
Lancashire  background,  and  only  six  have  been 
played  by  Miss  Horniman's  company.  Again,  it  is  a 
mistake  to  imagine  that  the  Manchester  Theatre 
in  any  way  specializes  in  local  plays.  On  the  con- 
trary, catholicity  has  always  been  its  watchword. 
At  its  inauguration  it  had  one  prime  object,  the  pro- 
duction of  good  plays  irrespective  of  any  kind  or  class 
[v] 


343517 


INTRODUCTION 


into  which  they  might  be  grouped.  There  was  no 
special  axe  to  be  ground,  no  particular  theory  of  pro- 
duction or  playwriting  to  be  exploited. 

While  it  is  necessary  to  bring  this  point  forward, 
one  would  not  seek  to  minimize  the  value  and  im- 
portance of  the  local  drama.  Harold  Brighouse  is 
a  Manchester  man,  and  those  of  his  plays  which  deal 
with  Lancashire  life  are  the  most  richly  individualized. 
So,  too,  the  most  far-reaching  result  of  Miss  Horni- 
man's  Theatre  has  been  the  growth  of  a  Lancashire 
drama  which  has  made  Lancashire  live  for  thousands 
where  before  it  was  no  more  than  an  empty  name. 

It  was  the  establishment  in  their  midst  of  a  theatre 
mainly  devoted  to  the  production  of  new  plays  which 
gave  Manchester  writers  an  impetus  toward  the 
drama.  That  their  output  took  the  form,  to  a  great 
extent,  of  local  plays  is  probably  largely  due  to  the 
fortunate  chance  that  the  theatre  opened  its  doors  at 
the  time  when  the  Irish  Players,  who  gave  the  great 
stimulus  to  the  Folk  Drama,  were  in  the  meridian  of 
their  success.  In  any  case,  there  can  be  no  question 
that  Lancashire  life  is  so  rich  in  individual  traits 
and  its  verbal  expression  is  rendered  so  colorful  by 
its  uncompromising  dialect  that  the  dramatist  found 
in  it  a  rich-veined  mine. 

[vi] 


INTRODUCTION 


One  of  the  first  to  explore  this  mine  and  quite  the 
most  successful,  with  the  possible  exception  of 
Stanley  Houghton,  whose  work  was  so  tragically  cut 
short  by  his  early  death,  was  Harold  Brighouse. 
His  first  long  play,  Dealing  in  Futures  (produced 
originally  by  the  Glasgow  Repertory  Theatre),  is 
a  study  of  industrial  conditions  and  the  century- 
long  contest  between  capital  and  labor.  The 
external  facts  would  apply  with  almost  equal  ex- 
actitude to  any  manufacturing  community,  but 
the  characters  are  unmistakable  Lancashire  types. 
It  is  not  a  plea  for  any  particular  solution  of  the 
social  problem,  nor,  though  the  author's  sympathy 
with  the  workers  is  clear  enough,  does  it  display  any- 
thing of  the  fervor  of  the  reformer.  For  an  early  play 
it  shows  a  remarkable  sense  of  dramatic  construc- 
tion, and  it  is  characteristic  of  the  author's  subse- 
quent work  in  that  it  is  a  play  of  character  rather 
than  of  situation. 

The  first  example  of  the  author's  work  to  be  given 
in  Manchester  was  a  short  one-act  sketch.  The  Door- 
umy.  This  is  little  more  than  a  dialogue  between 
two  outcasts,  a  man  and  a  woman,  strangers  to  each 
other,  who  meet  by  chance  in  the  shelter  of  a  factory 
door  and  find  mutual  comfort  in  telling  over  their 
[vii] 


INTRODUCTION 


misfortunes  and  their  past  adventures  as  they  huddle 
together  in  the  biting  cold  of  the  small  hours  of  a 
winter's  morning.  This  play,  too,  is  indicative  of 
the  author's  development;  the  characterization  is 
markedly  individual,  clear-cut,  and  sympathetic, 
and  the  dialogue  is  full  of  a  quaint  humor  which  is 
essentially  of  the  theatre.  In  all  Harold  Brighouse's 
plays  there  is  in  the  acting  more  laughter  than  one 
would  expect  from  the  reading.  The  actors  in- 
variably experience  a  sense  of  surprise  and  pleasure 
when  they  discover  in  performance  that  the  public 
finds  far  more  humor  in  their  parts  than  they  them- 
selves were  aware  of  during  the  period  of  preparation. 

Harold  Brighouse  is  a  prolific  writer.  He  has  been 
particularly  successful  in  the  field  of  the  one-act 
drama,  a  field  almost  entirely  neglected  in  America, 
and  in  England  too  often  regarded  solely  as  the 
despised  "curtain-raiser,"  useful  to  keep  the  gallery 
quiet  whilst  the  late  diners  dribble  into  the  stalls. 

His  most  noteworthy  examples  of  the  one-act 
form  are,  perhaps.  Spring  in  Bloomshury,  a  realistic 
picture  of  the  hopeless  struggle  of  mediocrity  as 
exemplified  in  a  conscientious  but  ungifted  young 
London  clerk;  it  is  a  successful  example  of  what  has 
been  defined  as  the  drama  of  revolt;  The  Price  of 
f  viii  ] 


INTRODUCTION 


Coaly  a  swift  little  play  depicting  in  bold  colors  the 
uncertainties  and  hazards  of  the  miner's  life ;  it  was 
originally  written  in  Lancashire  dialect,  but  for 
its  first  performance  by  the  Glasgow  Repertory  Com- 
pany it  was  transposed  into  the  Scotch  idiom,  in 
which  form  it  was  played  several  hundred  times  in 
Great  Britain  as  a  curtain-raiser  to  Bunty  Pulls  the 
Strings,  and,  especially.  Lonesome  Like,  which  belongs 
to  the  same  genre  as  Hobson's  Choice  and  in  which  the 
author  reaches  a  very  high  development  of  the  one- 
act  form.  The  theme  is  simple.  A  shy  young  en- 
gineer, his  sensitive  and  unconsciously  poetic  nature 
stunted  intellectually  by  the  rough  atmosphere  of 
factory  life,  is  suffering  from  loneliness  since  the 
death  of  his  mother  a  year  before.  Failing  in 
his  all  too  clumsy  love  affair,  he  turns  to  an  old 
woman,  disabled  by  rheumatism  and  about  to  be 
taken  to  the  poorhouse,  and  "adopts  her  as  his 
mother."  This  is  all,  but  the  story  is  told  so  win- 
ningly,  the  dialogue  is  so  vibrant  with  natural 
humor,  and  the  denouement — the  old  woman's  re- 
lease from  the  shame  of  pauperism  and  the  boy's 
rapture  at  the  solution  of  his  problem — is  so  neatly 
turned  that  the  play  is  a  masterpiece  in  miniature. 
Of  the  several  long  plays  which  Harold  Brighouse 
fix! 


INTRODUCTION 


has  to  his  credit  the  most  important  are.  The  Odd 
Man  Out,  a  comedy  of  middle-class  life — realism  with 
a  dash  of  fantasy — which  was  produced  at  the 
Royalty  Theatre,  London;  Gar  side  s  Career,  a  study 
of  the  career  of  a  callow  young  Socialist  orator  who 
advances  rapidly  to  a  seat  in  Parliament,  where  his 
head  is  turned  by  the  insidious  atmosphere  of  social 
aggrandizement;  he  forgets  his  ideals,  neglects  his 
duties,  and  tumbles,  discredited,  into  an  abj^ss  of 
failure;  this  play,  performed  in  Manchester  and 
London,  as  well  as  on  tour,  has  been  the  author's 
most  successful  play  prior  to  Hobsons  Choice;  The 
Northerners,  a  play  of  the  eighteen  twenties,  when 
the  handloom  weavers,  cast  from  comparative 
affluence  to  a  state  of  extreme  poverty  by  the  in- 
troduction of  machinery,  rose  in  revolt  and  sought 
to  destroy  the  factories.  In  this  play  situation 
is  an  important  factor,  a  fine  moment  being  the 
termination  of  the  third  act,  when  the  soldiers, 
who  have  been  brought  to  quell  the  rioters,  are 
enticed  on  to  the  moors  by  lanterns  hung  upon  the 
sheep,  and  only  discover  their  error  at  the  moment 
when  the  sky  is  illumined  by  flames  from  the  burning 
factory  they  have  been  summoned  to  protect. 

Hobson's  Choice  has  not  yet  been  performed  in 
[x] 


INTRODUCTION 


England:  its  success  in  America  is  established. 
Though  local  in  setting,  its  intrinsic  universality 
cannot  be  questioned.  It  may  perhaps  be  worth 
while  to  point  out  that  the  characteristics  of  the 
Hobson  family,  their  practicality,  hard-headedness, 
and  self-centred  aggressiveness,  are  not,  as  some 
critics  have  regarded  them,  individual  to  Hobson 
and  inherited  by  his  daughters,  but  the  leading 
traits  of  the  Lancashire  character.  The  average 
Manchester  man  prides  himself  upon  the  posses- 
sion of  them.  He  has  exalted  them  almost  into 
a  religion.  In  the  Hobson  family,  too,  with  all 
their  deliberate  concentration  on  material  advance- 
ment, one  finds  indication  of  the  other  Lan- 
cashire qualities,  hidden  under  a  rough  exterior 
of  humor  and  kindliness.  Thus  it  is  well  to 
remember  that  in  Hobson's  Choice  the  curtain  is 
raised  not  merely  on  the  interior  of  a  little  Salford 
shoe  shop  but  on  an  epitome  of  Lancashire  life,  or  at 
any  rate  upon  that  great  stratum  defined  in  England 
as  "the  lower  middle  class,"  that  class  which  Henry 
Horatio  Hobson  would  proclaim  as  "the  backbone  of 
society." 

B.  Iden  Payne. 


xi] 


CHARACTERS 

Henry  Horatio  Hobson 
William  Mossop 
Albert  Prosser 
Timothy  (Tubby)  Wadlow 
-Jim  Heeler 
Fred  Beenstock 
Dr.  MacFarlane 
Maggie  Hobson 
Alice  Hobson 
VicKEY  Hobson 
Mrs.  Hepworth 
Ada  Figgins 

The  Scene  is  Salford,  Lancashire,  and  the  Time  is  1880. 

Act  I.        Interior  of  Hobson'' s  Shop  in  Chapel  St. 

Act  II.      Scene  1.     Interior  of  Hobson' s  Shop  in  Chapel  St. 

Scene  2.     Will  Mossop" s  Shop. 
Act  III.    Living-room  of  Hobson' s  Shop, 


CAST  OF  CHARACTERS 

FOR  AMERICAN  PRODUCTION  OF 

HOBSON'S  CHOICE 

BY 

HAROLD  BRIGHOUSE 

Alice  Hobson Miss  Viola  Roach 

Maggie  Hobson Miss  Molly  Pearson 

Vickey  Hobson Miss  Olive  Wilmot  Davis 

Albert  Prosser Harold  de  Becker 

Henry  Horatio  Hobson A.  G.  Andrews 

Mrs.  Hepworth Miss  Marie  Hudspeth 

Timothy  Wadlow  (Tubby)      .      .      .     Harry  J.  Ashford 

William  Mossop Whitford  Kane 

Jim  Heeler Walter  Fredericks 

Ada  Figgins JVIiss  Agnes  Dorntee 

Fred  Beenstock B.^jinett  Parker 

Dr.  MacFarlane Robert  Forsyth 

Produced  at  the  Princess  Theatre,  New  York,  Novem- 
ber 2,  1915. 


HOBSON'S  CHOICE 
Sttt  I 


ACT  I 

The  scene  represents  the  interior  of  Hobson's  Boot 
Shop  in  Chapel  Street,  Salford.  The  shop  windows 
and  entrance  from  street  occupy  the  right  side.  Op- 
posite is  the  counter,  with  exhibits  of  boots  and 
slippers,  behind  which  the  wall  is  filled  with  racks 
containing  boot  boxes.  Cane  chairs  in  front  of 
counter.  A  door  centre  leads  up  two  stairs  to  the 
house.  Up  stage  by  the  counter  is  a  trap  leading  to 
the  cellar  where  work  is  done.  There  are  no  elabo- 
rate fittings,  gas  brackets  in  the  window  and  walls. 
The  business  is  prosperous,  but  to  prosper  in  Salford 
in  1880  you  did  not  require  the  elaborate  accessories 
of  a  later  day.  A  very  important  customer  goes  for 
fitting  into  Hobson's  sitting-room  through  the 
centre  door.  The  rank  and  file  use  the  cane  chairs 
in  the  shop  which  is  dingy  but  businesslike.  The 
windows  exhibit  little  stock,  and  amongst  what  there 
is  clogs  figure  prominently.  Through  the  windows 
comes  the  bright  light  of  noon. 

Behind  the  counter  are  Hobson's  two  younger 
[3] 


Act  I  HOBSON'S  CHOICE 


daughters^  Alice,  who  is  twenty-three,  and  Vic- 
toria, who  is  twenty-one,  and  very  pretty.  They  are 
in  blacky  with  neat  black  aprons.  The  centre  door 
opens  and  Maggie  enters.  She  is  Hobson's  eldest 
daughter,  thirty. 

Alice.  Oh,  it's  you.  I  hoped  it  was  father  going 
out.' 

Maggie.  It  isn't.  [She  crosses  and  takes  her  place 
down  stage  behind  counter.  Vickey  is  up  stage  and 
Ajacb  in  the  middle.] 

Alice.     He  is  late  this  morning. 

Maggie.  He  got  up  late.  [She  sits  behind  counter 
and  busies  herself  with  an  account  book.] 

Vickey.     Has  he  had  breakfast  yet,  Maggie.^ 

Maggie.  Breakfast!  With  a  Masons'  meeting 
last'night.^ 

Vickey.     He'll  need  reviving. 

Alice.     Then  I  wish  he'd  go  and  do  it. 

Vickey.     Are  yoii  expecting  any  one,  Alice? 

Alice.  Yes,  I  am,  and  you  know  I  am,  and  I'll 
thank  you  both  to  go  when  he  comes. 

Vickey.  Well,  I'll  oblige  you,  Alice,  if  father's 
gone  out  first,  only  you  know  I  can't  leave  the  coun- 
ter till  he  goes. 

[4] 


HOBSON'S  CHOICE  Act  I 

[Albert  Prosser  enters  from  the  street.  He 
is  twenty-six,  nicely  dressed,  as  the  son  of  an 
established  solicitor  looidd  he.  He  crosses  to 
counter  and  raises  his  hat  to  Alice.] 

Albert.     Good  morning,  Miss  iVlice. 

Alice.  Good  morning,  Mr.  Prosser.  [She  leans 
across  counter.]  Father's  not  gone  out  yet.  He's 
late. 

Albert.  Oh!  [He  turris  to  go  and  is  halfway  to 
door,  when  Maggie  rises.] 

Maggie.     What  can  we  do  for  you,  Mr.  Prosser? 

Albert  [stopping].  Well,  I  can't  say  that  I  came 
in  to  buy  anything.  Miss  Hobson. 

Maggie.  This  is  a  shop,  you  know.  W^e're  not 
here  to  let  people  go  out  without  buying. 

Albert.  Well,  I'll  just  have  a  pair  of  boot  laces, 
please. 

Maggie.  What  size  do  you  take  in  boots?  [She 
comes  round  counter  with  a  small  mat  in  her  hand.] 

Albert.     Eights.     Does  that  matter  to  the  laces? 

Maggie  [putting  mat  in  front  of  a  chair].  It  mat- 
ters to  the  boots.  [She  pushes  him  slightly.]  Sit 
down,  Mr.  Prosser. 

Albert  [sitting].     Yes,  but 

[Maggie  is  on  her  knees  unlacing  his  hoot] 


Act  I  HOBSON'S  CHOICE 

Maggie.  It's  time  you  had  a  new  pair.  These 
uppers  are  disgraceful  for  a  professional  man  to  wear. 
Number  eights  from  the  third  rack,  Vickey,  please. 

Alice.  Mr.  Prosser  didn't  come  in  to  buy  boots, 
Maggie. 

[Vickey  comes   round  to   Maggie   with   box 
which  she  opens.] 

Maggie.  I  wonder  what  does  bring  him  in  here 
so  often. 

Albert.  I'm  terrible  hard  on  boot  laces.  Miss 
Hobson. 

[Vickey  goes  back,  Maggie  puts  a  new  boot  on 
him  and  laces  it.] 

Maggie.  Do  you  get  through  a  pair  a  day.^ 
You  must  be  strong. 

Albert.  I  keep  a  little  stock  of  them.  It's  as 
well  to  be  prepared  for  accidents. 

Maggie.  And  now  you'll  have  boots  to  go  with 
the  laces,  Mr.  Prosser.    How  does  that  feel.'^ 

Albert.     Very  comfortable. 

Maggie.     Try  it  standing  up. 

Albert  [trying  and  walking  a  few  steps].  Yes, 
that  fits  all  right. 

Maggie.     I'll  put  the  other  on. 

Albert.    Oh,  no,  I  really  don't  want  to  buy  them. 
[61 


HOBSON'S  CHOICE  Act  I 

Maggie  [pushing  him].  Sit  down,  Mr.  Prosser. 
You  can't  go  through  the  Greets  in  odd  boots. 

Albert.     What's  the  price  of  these  ? 

Maggie.     A  pound. 

Albert.     A  pound!     I  say 

Maggie.  They're  good  boots  and  you  don't  need 
to  buy  a  pair  of  laces  to-day,  because  we  give  them 
in  as  discount.  Braid  laces,  that  is.  Of  course,  if 
you  want  leather  ones,  you  being  so  strong  in  the 
arm  and  breaking  so  many  pairs,  you  can  have  them, 
only  it's  tuppence  more. 

Albert.     These — these  will  do. 

Maggie.  Very  well,  I'll  send  the  old  pair  home 
to  you  with  the  bill.  [She  has  laced  the  second  boot 
and  rises,  picking  up  the  mat.] 

Albert.  Well,  if  any  one  had  told  me  I  was  com- 
ing in  here  to  spend  a  pound  I'd  have  called  him 
crazy. 

Maggie.  It's  not  wasted.  Those  boots  will  last. 
Good  morning,  Mr.  Prosser.     [She  holds  door  open.] 

Albert.  Good  morning.  [He  looks  blankly  at 
Alice  and  goes  out.] 

Alice.  Maggie,  we  know  you're  a  pushing  sales- 
woman, but 

^Iaggie  [returning  to  counter].  It'll  teach  him  to 
[7] 


Act  I  HOBSON'S  CHOICE 

keep  out  of  here  a  bit.     He's  too  much  time  on  his 
hands. 

Alice.     You  know  why  he  comes. 
Maggie.     I  know  it's  time  he  paid  a  rent  for  com- 
ing.    A  pair  of  laces  a  day's  not  half  enough.     Com- 
ing here  to  make  sheep's  eyes  at  you.     I'm  sick  of 
the  sight  of  him. 

Alice.  It's  all  very  well  for  an  old  maid  like  you 
to  talk,  but  if  father  won't  have  us  go  courting  where 
else  can  Albert  meet  me  except  here  when  father's 
out? 

Maggie.  If  he  wants  to  marry  you  why  doesn't 
he  do  it? 

Alice.     Courting  must  come  first. 
ML\GGIE.     It  needn't.     [She  picks  up  a  slipper.] 
See  that  slipper  with  a  paste  buckle  on  to  make  it 
pretty?     Courting's  like  that,  my  lass.     All  glitter 
and  no  use  to  nobody.     [She  replaces  slipper.] 

[Henry  Horatio  Hobson  enters  from  the 
house.  He  i^  fifty-five^  successful,  coarse, 
florid,  and  a  parent  of  the  period.  His  hat 
is  on.  It  is  one  of  those  felt  hats  which  are 
halfway  to  tall  hats  in  shape.  He  has  a 
heavy  gold  chain  and  masonic  emblems  on  it. 
His  clothes  are  bought  to  wear.] 
[8] 


HOBSON'S  CHOICE  Act  I 

HoBsoN.  Maggie,  I'm  just  going  out  for  a  quarter 
of  an  hour. 

Maggie.  Yes,  father.  Don't  be  late  for  dinner. 
There's  hver. 

HoBsoN.     It's  an  hour  off  dinner-time. 

Maggie.  So  that,  if  you  stay  more  than  an  hour 
in  the  Moonraker's  Inn,  you'll  be  late  for  it. 

HoBsoN.     Moonraker's?     Who  said ? 

ViCKEY.  If  your  dinner's  ruined,  it'll  be  your 
own  fault. 

HoBSON.     Well,  I'll  be  eternally 

Alice.     Don't  swear,  father. 

HoBSON  [putting  hat  on  counter].  No.  I'll  sit 
down  instead.  [He  takes  chair,  straddling  across  it 
and  facing  them  with  his  elbows  on  its  back.]  Listen 
to  me,  you  three.  I've  come  to  conclusions  about 
you.  And  I  won't  have  it.  Do  you  hear  that? 
Interfering  with  my  goings  out  and  comings  in. 
The  idea!  I've  a  mind  to  take  measures  with  the 
lot  of  you.  9 

Maggie.  I  expect  Mr.  Heeler's  waiting  for  you 
in  Moonraker's,  father. 

HoBSON.  He  can  go  on  waiting.  x\t  present,  I'm 
addressing  a  few  remarks  to  the  rebellious  females 
of  this  house,  and  what  I  say  will  be  listened  to  and 
[91 


Act  I  HOBSON'S  CHOICE 

heeded.  I've  noticed  it  coming  on  ever  since  your 
mother  died.  There's  been  a  gradual  increase  of 
uppishness  towards  me. 

ViCKEY.  Father,  you'd  have  more  time  to  talk 
after  we've  closed  to-night. 

HoBSON.  I'm  talking  now,  and  you're  listening. 
Providence  has  decreed  that  you  should  lack  a 
mother's  hand  at  the  time  when  single  girls  grow 
bumptious  and  must  have  somebody  to  rule.  But 
I'll  tell  you  this,  you'll  none  rule  me. 

VicKEY.     I'm  sure  I'm  not  bumptious,  father. 

HoBSON.  Yes,  you  are.  You're  pretty,  but 
you're  bumptious,  and  I  hate  bumptiousness  like  I 
hate  a  lawyer. 

Alice.  If  we  take  trouble  to  feed  you  it's  not 
bumptious  to  ask  you  not  to  be  late  for  your  food. 

ViCKEY.     Give  and  take,  father. 

HoBsoN.  I  give  and  you  take  and  it's  going  to 
end. 

Maggie.     How  much  a  week  do  you  give  us? 

HoBSON.  That's  neither  here  nor  there.  At  mo- 
ment I'm  on  uppishness,  and  I'm  warning  you  your 
conduct  towards  your  parent's  got  to  change.  But 
that's  not  all.  That's  private  conduct,  and  now  I 
pass  to  broader  aspects  and  I  speak  of  public  conduct. 
[  10  ] 


HOBSON'S  CHOICE  Act  I 

I've  looked  upon  my  household  as  they  go  about  the 
streets  and  I've  been  disgusted.  The  fair  name  and 
fame  of  Hobson  has  been  outraged  by  members  of 
Hobson's  family,  snd  uppishness  has  done  it. 

VicKEY.     I  don't  know  what  you're  talking  about. 

Hobson.  Vickey,  you're  pretty,  but  you  can  lie 
like  a  gas  meter.     Who  had  new  dresses  on  last  week? 

Alice.     I  suppose  you  mean  Vickey  and  me? 

Hobson.     I  do. 

Vickey.  We  shall  dress  as  we  like,  father,  and 
you  can  save  your  breath. 

Hobson.  I'm  not  stopping  in  from  my  appoint- 
ment for  the  purpose  of  saving  my  breath. 

Vickey.     You  like  to  see  me  in  nice  clothes. 

Hobson.  I  do.  I  like  to  see  my  daughters  nice. 
That's  why  I  pay  Mr.  Sudsbury,  the  draper,  £10  a 
year  a  head  to  dress  you  proper.  It  pleases  the  eye 
and  it's  good  for  trade.  But,  I'll  tell  you,  if  some 
women  could  see  themselves  as  men  see  them,  they'd 
have  a  shock,  and  I'll  have  words  with  Sudsbury  an* 
all,  for  letting  you  dress  up  like  guys.  I  saw  you  and 
Alice  out  of  the  "  Moonraker's  "  parlor  on  Thursday 
night  and  my  friend  Sam  Minns 

Alice.     A  publican. 

Hobson.  Aye,  a  publican.  As  honest  a  man  as 
fill 


Act  I  HOBSON'S  CHOICE 

God  Almighty  ever  set  behind  a  bar,  my  ladies.  My 
friend,  Sam  Minns,  asks  me  who  you  were.  And 
well  he  might.  You  were  going  down  Chapel  Street 
with  a  hump  added  to  nature  behind  you. 

ViCKEY  [scandalized].     Father! 

HoBSON.  The  hump  was  wagging,  and  you  put 
your  feet  on  pavement  as  if  you'd  got  chilblains — aye, 
stiff  neck  above  and  weak  knees  below.  It's  im- 
modest ! 

Alice.  It  is  not  immodest,  father.  It's  the  fash- 
ion to  wear  bustles. 

HoBsoN.     Then  to  hell  with  the  fashion. 

Maggie.  Father,  you  are  not  in  the  "Moon- 
raker's  "  now. 

ViCKEY.  You  should  open  your  eyes  to  what 
other  ladies  wear. 

HoBsoN.  If  what  I  saw  on  you  is  any  guide,  I 
should  do  nowt  of  kind.  I'm  a  decent-minded  man. 
I'm  Hobson.  I'm  British  middle  class  and  proud  of 
it.  I  stand  for  common  sense  and  sincerity.  You're 
affected,  which  is  bad  sense  and  insincerity.  You've 
overstepped  nice  dressing  and  you've  tried  grand 
dressing,  which  is  the  occupation  of  fools  and  such  as 
have  no  brains.  You  forget  the  majesty  of  trade 
and  the  unparalleled  virtues  of  the  British  Constitu- 
f  12  1 


HOBSON'S  CHOICE  Act  I 

tion  which  are  all  based  on  the  sanity  of  the  middle 
classes,  combined  with  the  diligence  of  the  working 
classes.  You're  losing  balance,  and  you're  putting 
the  things  which  don't  matter  in  front  of  the  things 
which  do,  and  if  you  mean  to  be  a  factor  in  the  world 
in  Lancashire  or  a  factor  in  the  house  of  Hobson, 
you'll  become  sane. 

VicKEY.     Do  you  want  us  to  dress  like  mill  girls? 

Hobson.  No.  Nor  like  French  Madams,  neither. 
It's  un-English,  I  say. 

iVLiCE.  We  shall  continue  to  dress  fashionably, 
father. 

Hobson.  Then  I've  a  choice  for  you  two.  Vickey, 
you  I'm  talking  to,  and  Alice.  You'll  become  sane 
if  you're  going  on  living  here.  You'll  control  this 
uppishness  that's  growing  on  you.  And  if  you 
don't,  you  get  out  of  this,  and  exercise  your  gifts  on 
some  one  else  than  me.  You  don't  know  when 
you're  well  off.  But  you'll  learn  it  when  I'm  done 
with  you.  I'll  choose  a  pair  of  husbands  for  you,  my 
girls.     That's  what  I'll  do. 

Alice.     Can't  we  choose  husbands  for  ourselves? 

Hobson.  I've  been  telling  you  for  the  last  five 
minutes  you're  not  even  fit  to  choose  dresses  for 
yourselves. 

[13] 


Act  I  HOBSON'S  CHOICE 

Maggie.  You're  talking  a  lot  to  Vickey  and  Alice, 
father.     Where  do  I  come  in? 

HoBsoN.     You? 

Maggie.  K  you're  dealing  husbands  round,  don't 
I  get  one? 

HoBsoN.  Well,  that's  a  good  one!  You  with  a 
husband ! 

Maggie.     Why  not? 

HoBSON.  Why  not?  I  thought  you'd  sense 
enough  to  know.  But  if  you  want  the  brutal  truth, 
you're  past  the  marrying  age.  You're  a  proper  old 
maid,  Maggie,  if  ever  there  was  one. 

Maggie.     I'm  thirty. 

HoBSON.  Aye,  thirty  and  shelved.  Well,  all 
the  women  can't  get  husbands.  But  you  others, 
now.  I've  told  you.  I'll  have  less  uppishness  from 
you  or  else  I'll  shove  you  off  my  hands  on  to  some 
other  men.  You  can  just  choose  which  way  you 
like.     [He  picks  up  hat  and  makes  for  door.] 

Maggie.     One  o'clock  dinner,  father. 

HoBSON.  See  here,  Maggie,  I  set  the  hours  at 
this  house.  It's  one  o'clock  dinner  because  I  say  it 
is,  and  not  because  you  do. 

Maggie.     Yes,  father. 

HoBsoN.  So  long  as  that's  clear  I'll  go.  [He  is 
[14  1 


HOBSON'S  CHOICE  Act  I 

by  door.]     Oh,  no,  I  won't.     Mrs.  Hepworth's  getting 
out  of  her  carriage. 

[He  puts  hat  on  counter  again  and  opens  door. 
Enter  Mrs.  Hepworth,  an  old  lady  with  a 
curt  manner  and  good  clothes. \ 
Good   morning,    Mrs.    Hepworth.     What   a   lovely 
day.     [He  places  chair.] 

Mrs.  Hepworth  [sitting].  Morning,  Hobson. 
[She  raises  her  skirt.] .  I've  come  about  those  boots 
you  sent  me  home. 

Hobson  [kneeling  and  fondling  boot].  Yes,  Mrs. 
Hepworth.     They  look  very  nice. 

Mrs.  Hepworth.  Get  up,  Hobson.  You  look 
ridiculous  on  the  floor.     Who  made  these  boots? 

Hobson.  We  did.  Our  own  make.  [He  scram- 
bles up,  controlling  his  feelings.] 

Mrs.  Hepworth.  Will  you  answer  a  plain  ques- 
tion?    Who  made  these  boots? 

Hobson.     They  were  made  on  the  premises. 

Mrs.  Hepworth  [to  Maggie].  Young  woman, 
you  seemed  to  have  some  sense  when  you  served  me. 
Can  you  answer  me? 

Maggie.  I  think  so,  but  I'll  make  sure  for 
you,  Mrs.  Hepworth.  [She  opens  trap  and  calls.] 
Tubby!     \Ji'[r 

[15] 


Ad  I  HOBSON'S  CHOICE 


HoBSON.     You  wish  to  see  the  identical  workman, 
Madam? 

Mrs.  Hepworth.     I  said  so. 
HoBSON.     I  am  responsible  for  all  work  turned 
out  here. 

Mrs.  Hepworth.     I  never  said  you  weren't. 

[Tubby  Wadlow  comes  up  trap.     A  white- 
haired  little  man  with  thin  legs  and  a  paunchy 
in  dingy  clothes  with  no  collar  and  a  colored 
cotton  shirt.     He  has  no  coat  on.] 
Tubby.     Yes,  Miss  Maggie.^     [He  stands  half  out 
of  trap,  not  coming  right  up.] 

Mrs.  Hepworth.     Man,    did    you    make    these 
boots?     [She  advances  one  towards  him.] 
Tubby.     No,  Ma'am. 

Mrs.   Hepworth.     Then   who    did?    Am    I    to 
question  every  soul  in  the  place  before  I  find  out? 
Tubby.     They're  Willie's  making,  those. 
Mrs.  Hepworth.     Then  tell  Willie  I  want  him. 
Tubby.     Certainly,  Ma'am.     [He  goes  down  trap.] 
Mrs.  Hepworth.     Who's  Willie? 
HoBSON.     Name    of    Mossop,    Madam.     But    if 
there  is  anything  wrong  I  assure  you  I'm  capable  of 

making  the  man  suffer  for  it.     I'll 

[Wellie  Mossop  comes  up  trap.    He  is  a  lanky 
[16] 


HOBSON'S  CHOICE  Act  I 

fellow,  about  thirty,  not  naturally  stupid 
hut  stunted  mentally  by  a  brutalized  child- 
hood. He  is  the  raw  material  of  a  charming 
man,  hut,  at  present,  it  requires  a  very  keen  eye 
to  detect  his  potentialities.  His  clothes  are 
an  even  poorer  edition  of  Tubby's.  He  comes 
right  up  trap.] 
Mrs.  Hepworth.  Are  you  Mossop? 
Willie.     Yes,  mum. 

Mrs.  Hepworth.     You  made  these  boots? 
Willie  [peering  at  them].     Yes,  I  made  them  last 
week. 

Mrs.  Hepworth.     Take  that. 

[Willie,  bending  doivn,  rather  expects  "thaV* 
to  be  a  blow.     Then  he  raises  his  head  and 
finds  she  is  holding  out  a  visiting  card.     He 
takes  it.] 
See  what's  on  it? 

Willie  [bending  over  the  card].     Writing? 
Mrs.  Hepworth.     Read  it. 

Willie.     I'm  trying.     [His  lips  move  as  he  tries 
to  spell  it  out.] 

Mrs.  Hepworth.     Bless    the    man.     Can't   you 
read? 

Willie.     I  do  a  bit.     Only  it's  such  funny  print. 
f  17  1 


Act  I  HOBSON'S  CHOICE 

Mrs.  Hepworth.  It's  the  usual  italics  of  a  vis- 
iting card,  my  man.  Now  listen  to  me.  I  heard 
about  this  shop,  and  what  I  heard  brought  me  here 
for  these  boots.  I'm  particular  about  what  I  put 
on  my  feet. 

HoBsoN.  I  assure  you  it  shall  not  occur  again, 
Mrs.  Hepworth. 

Mrs.  Hepworth.     What  shan't .^ 

HoBsoN.     I — I  don't  know. 

Mrs.  Hepworth.  Then  hold  your  tongue.  Mos- 
sop,  I've  tried  every  shop  in  Manchester  and  these 
are  the  best-made  pair  of  boots  I've  ever  had.  Now, 
you'll  make  my  boots  in  future.  You  hear  that, 
Hobson? 

HoBsoN.     Yes,  Madam,  of  course  he  shall. 

Mrs.  Hepworth.  You'll  keep  that  card,  Mossop, 
and  you  won't  dare  leave  here  to  go  to  another  shop 
without  letting  me  know  where  you  are. 

Hobson.     Oh,  he  won't  make  a  change. 

Mrs.  Hepworth.  How  do  you  know?  The 
man's  a  treasure  and  I  expect  you  underpay  him. 

Hobson.     That'll  do,  Willie.    You  can  go. 

Willie.    Yes,  sir. 

[He  dives  down  trap.    Hobson  closes  it.] 

Mrs.  Hepworth.     He's  hke  a  rabbit.     [She  rises.] 
f  18  1 


HOBSON'S  CHOICE  Act  I 

Maggie.  Can  I  take  your  order  for  another  pair 
of  boots,  Mrs.  Hep  worth? 

Mrs.  Hepworth.  Not  yet,  young  woman.  But 
I  shall  send  my  daughters  here.  And,  mind  you, 
that  man's  to  make  the  boots. 

Maggie.     Certainly,  Mrs.  Hepworth. 

Mrs.  Hepworth.     Good  morning. 
[HoBsoN  opens  door.] 

HoBsoN.  Good  morning,  Mrs.  Hepworth.  Very 
glad  to  have  the  honor  of  serving  you.  Madam. 

[She  goes  out.     Hobson  closes  door.] 
I  wish  some  people  would  mind  their  own  business. 
What  does  she  want  to  praise  a  workman  to  his  face 
for.? 

Maggie.     I  suppose  he  deserved  it. 

Hobson.  Deserved  be  blowed !  Making  them  up- 
pish. That's  what  it  is.  Last  time  she  puts  her 
foot  in  my  shop,  I  give  you  my  word. 

Maggie.     Don't  be  silly,  father. 

Hobson.  I'll  show  her.  Thinks  she  owns  the 
earth  because  she  lives  at  Hope  Hall. 

[Enter  from  street  Jim  Heeler,  who  is  a  grocer, 
and  Hobson's  boon  companion.] 

Jim  [looking  down  street  as  he  enters].  That's  a  bit 
of  a  startler. 

[19] 


Act  I  HOBSON'S  CHOICE 

HoBSON    [swinging    round].     Eh?     Oh,    morning, 
Jim. 

Jim.     You're  doing  a  good  class  trade  if  the  car- 
riage folk  come  to  you,  Hobson. 

HoBSON.     What? 

Jim.     Wasn't  that  Mrs.  Hep  worth? 

Hobson.     Oh,  yes.     Mrs.  Hepworth's  an  old  and 
valued  customer  of  mine. 

Jim.     It's  funny  you  deal  with  Hope  Hall  and 
never  mentioned  it. 

Hobson.     Why,  I've  made  boots  for  her  and  all  her 
circle  for     .     .     .     how  long,  Maggie?     Oh,  I  dunno. 

Jim.     You  kept  it  dark.     Well,  aren't  you  coming 
round  yonder? 

Hobson  [reaching  for  his  hat].     Yes.     That  is,  no. 

Jim.     Are  you  ill? 

Hobson.     No.     Get  away,  you  girls.     I'll  look 
after  the  shop.     I  want  to  talk  to  Mr.  Heeler. 

Jim.  •  Well,  can't  you  talk  in  the  *'Moonraker's?" 
[The  girls  go  up  centre  stairs  to  house.] 

Hobson.     Yes,  with  Sam  Minns,  and  Denton  and 
Sudsbury  there. 

Jim.     It's    private,    then.     What's   the    trouble, 
Henry? 

[Hobson  puts  chair  for  Jim.     They  sit.] 
[20  1 


HOBSON'S  CHOICE  Act  I 

HoBsoN.  They're  the  trouble.  [Indicates  door 
to  house.]     Do  your  daughters  worry  you,  Jim? 

Jim.  Nay,  they  mostly  do  as  I  bid  them,  and  the 
missus  does  the  leathering  if  they  don't. 

HoBSON.  Ah,  Jim,  a  wife's  a  handy  thing,  and  you 
don't  know  it  proper  till  she's  taken  from  you.  I 
felt  grateful  for  the  quiet  when  my  Mary  fell  on  rest, 
but  I  can  see  my  mistake  now.  I  used  to  think  I 
was  hard  put  to  it  to  fend  her  off  when  she  wanted 
summat  out  of  me,  but  the  dominion  of  one  woman 
is  Paradise  to  the  dominion  of  three. 

Jim.     It  sounds  a  sad  case,  Henry. 

HoBSON.  I'm  a  talkative  man  by  nature,  Jim. 
You  know  that. 

Jim.  You're  an  orator,  Henry.  I  doubt  John 
Bright  himself  is  better  gifted  of  the  gab  than  you. 

HoBsoN.  Nay,  that's  putting  it  a  bit  too  strong. 
A  good  case  needs  no  flattery. 

Jim.  Well,  you're  the  best  debater  in  the  "Moon- 
raker's"  parlor. 

HoBSON.  And  that's  no  more  than  truth.  Yes, 
Jim,  in  the  estimation  of  my  fellowmen,  I  give  forth 
words  of  weight.  In  the  eyes  of  my  daughters  I'm 
a  windbag. 

Jim.     Nay.     Never! 

[21] 


Act  I  HOBSON'S  CHOICE 

HoBSON.  I  am.  They  scorn  my  wisdom,  Jim. 
They  answer  back.  I'm  landed  in  a  hole — a  great 
and  undignified  hole.  My  own  daughters  have  got 
the  upper  hand  of  me. 

Jim.  Women  are  worse  than  men  for  getting 
above  themselves. 

HoBsoN.  A  woman's  foolishness  begins  where 
man's  leaves  off. 

Jim.     They  want  a  firm  hand,  Henry. 

HoBSON.  I've  lifted  up  my  voice  and  roared  at 
them. 

Jim.  Beware  of  roaring  at  women,  Henry.  Roar- 
ing is  mainly  hollow  sound.  It's  like  trjdng  to  de- 
feat an  army  with  banging  drums  instead  of  cold 
steel.  And  it's  steel  in  a  man's  character  that  sub- 
dues the  women. 

HoBsoN.  I've  tried  all  ways,  and  I'm  fair  moith- 
ered.     I  dunno  what  to  do. 

Jim.    Then  you  quit  roaring  at  'em  and  get  'em  wed. 

HoBsoN.  I've  thought  of  that.  Trouble  is  to 
find  the  man. 

Jim.  Men's  common  enough.  Are  you  looking 
for  angels  in  breeches? 

HoBSON.  I'd  like  my  daughters  to  wed  temper- 
ance young  men,  Jim. 

[  22  ] 


HOBSON'S  CHOICE  Act  I 

Jim.  You  keep  your  ambitions  within  reasonable 
limits,  Henry.  You've  three  daughters  to  find  hus- 
bands for. 

HoBsoN.    Two,  Jim,  two. 

Jim.     Two? 

HoBsoN.  Viclviey  and  Alice  arc  mostly  window 
dressing  in  the  shop.  But  Maggie's  too  useful  to 
part  with.  i\jid  she's  a  bit  on  the  ripe  side  for 
marrying,  is  our  Maggie. 

Jim.  I've  seen  'em  do  it  at  double  her  age.  Still, 
leaving  her  out,  you've  two. 

HoBSON.  One'll  do  for  a  start,  Jim.  It's  a  thing 
I've  noticed  about  wenches.  Get  one  wedding  in  a 
family  and  it  goes  through  the  lot  like  measles. 

Jim.  Well,  you  want  a  man,  and  you  want  him 
temperance.     It'll  cost  you  a  bit,  you  know. 

HoBsoN.  Eh?  Oh,  I'll  get  my  hand  down  for 
the  wedding  all  right. 

Jim.  a  warm  man  like  you  'ull  have  to  do  more 
than  that.     There's  things  called  settlements. 

HoBSON.     Settlements? 

Jim.  Aye.  You've  to  bait  your  hook  to  catch 
fish,  Henry. 

HoBsoN.     Then  I'll  none  go  fishing. 

Jim.     But  you  said 


Act  I  HOBSON'S  CHOICE 


HoBSON.  I've  changed  my  mind.  I'd  a  fancy  for 
a  bit  of  peace,  but  there's  luxuries  a  man  can  buy  too 
dear.     Settlements  indeed! 

Jim.     I  had  a  man  in  mind. 

HoBsoN.  You  keep  him  there,  Jim.  I'll  rub 
along  and  chance  it.     Settlements. 

Jim.     You  save  their  keep. 

HoBSON.  They  work  for  that.  And  they're  none 
of  them  big  eaters. 

Jim.     And  their  wages. 

HoBSON.  Wages?  Do  you  think  I  pay  wages  to 
my  own  daughters?     I'm  not  a  fool. 

Jim.     Then  it's  all  off? 

HoBsoN.  From  the  moment  that  you  breathed 
the  word  settlements  it  was  dead  off,  Jim.  Let's 
go  to  the  "  Moonraker's "  and  forget  there's  such  a 
thing  as  women  in  the  world.  [He  takes  up  hat  and 
opens  centre  door.]     Shop!     Shop! 

[^I AGGIE  enters  from  living  rooms.] 
I'm  going  out,  Maggie. 

IVIaggie  [she  remains  by  door].  Dinner's  at  one, 
remember. 

HoBsoN.  Dinner  will  be  when  I  come  in  for  it. 
I'm  master  here. 

jVL\ggie.     Yes,  father.     One  o'clock. 
[24  1 


HOBSON'S  CHOICE  Act  I 

HoBsoN.     Come  along,  Jim. 

[Jim  and  Hobson  go  out  to  street.     Maggie 
turns  to  speak  inside  centre  door.] 
Maggie.     Dinner  at  half-past  one,  girls.     We'll 
give  him  half  an  hour.     [She  closes  door  and  crosses 
to  trap,  2vhich  she  raises.]     Willie,  come  here. 

[In  a  moment  Willie  appears,  and  stops  half- 
way  up.] 
Willie.     Yes,  Miss  Maggie? 
Maggie.     Come  up,  and  put  the  trap  down,  I 
want  to  talk  to  you. 

[He  comes,  reluctantly.] 
Willie.     We're  very  busy  in  the  cellar. 
Maggie.     Show  me  your  hands,  Willie. 
Willie.     They're  dirty.     [He  holds  them  out  hesi- 
tatingly.] 

Maggie.  Yes,  they're  dirty,  but  they're  clever. 
They  can  shape  the  leather  like  no  other  man's  that 
ever  came  into  the  shop.  Who  taught  you,  Willie? 
[She  retains  his  hands.] 

Willie.  Why,  Miss  Maggie,  I  learnt  my  trade 
here. 

Maggie.  Hobson's  never  taught  you  to  make 
boots  the  way  you  do. 

Willie.     I've  had  no  other  teacher. 
[25  1 


Act  I  HOBSON'S  CHOICE 

Maggie  [dropping  his  hands].  And  needed  none. 
You're  a  natural  born  genius  at  making  boots.  It's 
a  pity  you're  a  natural  fool  at  all  else. 

Willie.  I'm  not  much  good  at  'owt  but  leather, 
and  that's  a  fact. 

Maggie.     When  are  you  going  to  leave  Hobson's? 

Willie.  Leave  Hobson's?  I — I  .thought  I  gave 
satisfaction. 

Maggie.     Don't  you  want  to  leave? 

Willie.  Not  me.  I've  been  at  Hobson's  all  my 
life  and  I'm  not  for  leaving  till  I'm  made. 

Maggie.     I  said  you  were  a  fool. 

Willie.     Then  I'm  a  loyal  fool. 

Maggie.  Don't  you  want  to  get  on,  Will  Mos- 
sop?  You  heard  what  Mrs.  Hep  worth  said.  You 
know  the  wages  you  get  and  you  know  the  wages  a 
bootmaker  like  you  could  get  in  one  of  the  big  shops 
in  Manchester. 

Willie.  Nay,  I'd  be  feared  to  go  in  them  fine 
places. 

Maggie.  What  keeps  you  here?  Is  it  the — the 
people? 

Willie.  I  dunno  what  it  is.  I'm  used  to  being 
here. 

Maggie.  Do  you  know  what  keeps  this  business  on 
[26  1 


HOBSON'S  CHOICE  Act  I 

its  legs?  Two  things :  one's  the  good  boots  you  make 
that  sell  themselves,  the  other's  the  bad  boots  other 
people  make  and  I  sell.     We're  a  pair,  Will  Mossop. 

Willie.  You're  a  wonder  in  the  shop.  Miss  Mag- 
gie. 

Maggie.  And  you're  a  marvel  in  the  workshop. 
Well? 

Willie.     Well,  what? 

Maggie.     It  seems  to  me  to  point  one  way. 

Willie.     What  way  is  that? 

Maggie.  You're  leaving  me  to  do  the  work,  my 
lad. 

Willie.  I'll  be  getting  back  to  my  stool,  Miss 
Maggie. 

Maggie.  You'll  go  back  when  I've  done  with 
you.  I've  watched  you  for  a  long  time  and  every- 
thing I've  seen,  I've  liked.     I  think  you'll  do  for  me. 

Willie.     What  way,  Miss  Maggie? 

Maggie.  Will  Mossop,  you're  my  man.  Six 
months  I've  counted  on  you  and  it's  got  to  come  out 
some  time. 

Willie.     But  I  never 

Maggie.  I  know  you  never,  or  it  'ud  not  be  left 
to  me  to  do  the  job  like  this. 

Willie.  I'll — I'll  sit  down.  [He  sits,  mopping  his 
[27] 


Act  I  HOBSON'S  CHOICE 

brow.]     I'm  feeling  queer-like.     What  dost  want  me 
for? 

Maggie.  To  invest  in.  You're  a  business  propo- 
sition in  the  shape  of  a  man. 

Willie.     I've  got  no  head  for  business  at  all. 

Maggie.  But  I  have.  My  brain  and  your 
hands  'uU  make  a  working  partnership. 

Willie  [getting  up,  relieved].  Partnership!  Oh, 
that's  a  different  thing.  I  thought  you  were  axing 
me  to  wed  you. 

Maggie.     I  am. 

W^iLLiE.  Well,  by  gum.  And  you  the  master's 
daughter. 

Maggie.  Maybe  that's  why.  Will  Mossop. 
Maybe  I've  had  enough  of  father,  and  you're  as  dif- 
ferent from  him  as  any  man  I  know. 

Willie.     It's  a  bit  awkward-like. 

Maggie.  And  you  don't  help  me  any,  lad. 
What's  awkward  about  it? 

Willie.     You  talking  to  me  like  this. 

Maggie.  I'll  tell  you  something,  Will.  It's  a 
poor  sort  of  woman  who'll  stay  lazy  when  she  sees 
her  best  chance  slipping  from  her.  \  baiiord  life's 
too  near  the  bone  to  lose  things  through  the  fear  of 
speaking  out. 

[28] 


HOBSON'S  CHOICE  Act  I 

Willie.     I'm  your  best  chance? 

Maggie,     You  are  that,  Will. 

Willie.     Well,  by  gum.     I  never  thought  of  this. 

Maggie.     Think  of  it  now. 

Willie.  I  am  doing.  Only  the  blow's  a  bit  too 
sudden  to  think  very  clear.  I've  a  great  respect  for 
you,  Miss  Maggie.  You've  a  shapely  body,  and 
you're  a  masterpiece  at  selling  in  the  shop,  but  when 
it  comes  to  marrying,  I'm  bound  to  tell  you  that  I'm 
none  in  love  with  you. 

Maggie.  Wait  till  you're  asked.  I  want  your 
hand  in  mine  and  your  word  for  it  that  you'll  go 
through  life  with  me  for  the  best  we  can  get  out 
of  it. 

Willie.  We'd  not  get  much  without  there's  love 
between  us,  lass. 

Maggie.     I've  got  the  love  all  right. 

Willie.     Well,  I've  not,  and  that's  honest. 

Maggie.     We'll  get  along  without. 

Willie.  You're  kind  of  set  on  this.  It's  a  puzzle 
to  me  all  ways.     What  'ud  your  father  say? 

Maggie.  He'll  say  a  lot,  and  he  can  say  it.  It'll 
make  no  difiFerence  to  me. 

Willie.  Much  better  not  upset  him.  It's  not 
worth  while. 

[29  1 


Ad  I  HOBSON'S  CHOICE 

Maggie.  I'm  judge  of  that.  You're  going  to 
wed  me.  Will. 

Willie.  Oh,  nay,  I'm  not.  Really  I  can't  do  that, 
Maggie.  I  can  see  that  I'm  disturbing  your  ar- 
rangements like,  but  I'll  be  obliged  if  you'll  put  this 
notion  from  you. 

Maggie.  When  I  make  arrangements,  my  lad, 
they're  not  made  for  upsetting. 

Willie.  What  makes  it  so  desperate  awkward  is 
that  I'm  tokened. 

Maggie.     You're  what? 

Willie.     I'm  tokened  to  Ada  Figgins. 

Maggie.  Then  you'll  let  loose  and  quick.  Who's 
Ada  Figgins?     Do  I  know  her? 

Willie.     I'm  the  lodger  at  her  mother's. 

IVIaggie.  The  scheming  hussy.  It's  not  that 
sandy  girl  who  brings  your  dinner? 

Willie.  She's  golden-haired  is  Ada.  Aye,  she'll 
be  here  soon. 

Maggie.  And  so  shall  I.  I'll  talk  to  Ada.  I've 
seen  her  and  I  know  the  breed.  Ada's  the  helpless 
sort. 

Willie.     She  needs  protecting. 

Maggie.  That's  how  she  got  you,  was  it?  Yes, 
I  can  see  her  clinging  round  your  neck  until  you  fan- 
[30] 


HOBSON'S  CHOICE  Act  I 

cied  you  were  strong.     But  I'll  tell  you  this,  my  lad, 
it's  a  desperate  poor  kind  of  a  woman  that'll  look  for 
protection  to  the  likes  of  you. 
Willie.     Ada  does. 

Maggie.  And  that  gives  me  the  weight  of  her. 
She's  born  to  meekness,  Ada  is.  You  wed  her,  and 
you'll  be  an  eighteen  shilling  a  week  bootmaker  all 
the  days  of  your  life.  You'll  be  a  slave,  and  a  con- 
tented slave. 

Willie.     I'm  not  ambitious  that  I  know  of. 
Maggie.     No.     But  you're  going  to  be.     I'll  see 
to  that.     I've  got  my  work  cut  out,  but  there's  the 
makings  of  a  man  about  you. 

Willie.     I  wish  you'd  leave  me  alone. 
Maggie.     So  does  the  fly  when  the  spider  catches 
him.     You're  my  man,  Willie  Mossop. 

Willie.  Aye,  so  you  say.  Ada  would  tell  an- 
other story,  though. 

[Ada  Figgins  enters  from  street.  She  is  not 
ridiculous,  hut  a  weak,  poor-blooded,  poor- 
spirited  girl  of  twenty,  in  clogs  and  shawl, 
with  Willie's  dinner  in  a  basin  carried  in  a 
blue  handkerchief.  She  crosses  to  him  and 
gives  him  the  basin.] 
Ada.  There's  your  dinner,  Will. 
[311 


Act  I  HOBSON'S  CHOICE 

Willie.     Thank  you,  Ada. 

[She  turns  to  go,  and  finds  Maggie  in  her  ivay.] 

Maggie.     I  want  a  word  with  you.     You're  tread- 
ing on  my  foot,  young  woman. 

Ada.     Me,  Miss  Hobson?     [She  looks  stupidly  at 
Maggie's  feet.] 

Maggie.     What's  this  with  you  and  him? 

Ada  [gushing].     Oh,  Miss  'Obson,  it  is  good  of 
you  to  take  notice  Hke  that. 

Willie.     Ada,  she 

Maggie.     You  hold  your  hush.     This  is  for  me 
and  her  to  settle.     Take  a  fair  look  at  him,  Ada. 

Ada.     At  Will? 

Maggie  [nodding].     Not  much  there  for  two  wo- 
men to  fall  out  over,  is  there? 

Ada.     Maybe  he's  not  so  much  to  look  at,  but 
you  should  hear  him  play. 

Maggie.     Play?     Are  you  a  musician,  Will? 

Willie.     I  play  the  Jew's  harp. 

Maggie.     That's  what  you  see  in  him,  is  it?     A 
gawky  fellow  that  plays  the  Jew's  harp? 

Ada.     I  see  the  lad  I  love.  Miss  'Obson. 

Maggie.     It's  a  funny  thing,  but  I  can  say  the 
same. 

Ada.    You ! 

[32] 


HOBSON'S  CTIOICE  Act  I 

Willie.  That's  what  I've  been  trying  to  tell 
you,  Ada,  and — and,  by  gum,  she'll  have  me  from 
you  if  you  don't  be  careful. 

Maggie.     So  we're  quits  so  far,  Ada. 

Ada.  You'll  pardon  me.  You've  spoke  too  late. 
Will  and  me's  tokened. 

Maggie.  That's  the  past.  It's  the  future  that 
I'm  looking  to.     What's  your  idea  for  that? 

Ada.  You  mind  your  own  business.  Miss  'Obson. 
Will  Mossop's  no  concern  of  thine. 

Willie.  That's  what  I  try  to  tell  her  myself, 
only  she  will  have  it  it's  no  use. 

Maggie.  Not  an  atom.  I've  asked  for  your  idea 
of  Willie's  future.  If  it's  a  likelier  one  than  mine, 
I'll  give  you  best  and  you  can  have  the  lad. 

Ada.     I'm  trusting  him  to  make  the  future  right. 

Maggie.  It's  as  bad  as  I  thought  it  was.  Willie, 
you  wed  me. 

Ada.     It's  daylight  robbery. 

Willie.  Aren't  you  going  to  put  up  a  better  fight 
for  me  than  that,  Ada?  You're  fair  giving  me  to 
her. 

Maggie.  Will  Mossop,  you  take  your  orders 
from  me  in  this  shop.     I've  told  you  you'll  wed  me. 

Willie.     Seems  like  there's  no  escape. 
[33  1 


Act  I  HOBSON'S  CHOICE 

Ada.  Wait  while  I  get  you  to  home,  my  lad.  I'll 
set  my  mother  on  to  you. 

Maggie.     Oh,  so  it's  her  mother  made  this  match? 

Willie.     She  had  above  a  bit  to  do  with  it. 

Maggie.     I've  got  no  mother,  Will. 

Willie.     You  need  none,  neither. 

Maggie.  Well,  can  I  sell  you  ti  pair  of  clogs,  Miss 
Figgins? 

Ada.     No.     Nor  anything  else. 

Maggie.     Then  you've  no  business  here,  have  you? 

Ada.     Will,  are  you  going  to  see  me  ordered  out? 

Willie.     It's  her  shop,  Ada. 

Ada.     You  mean  I'm  to  go  like  this? 

Willie.     She  means  it. 

Ada.     It's  cruel  hard. 

Maggie.  When  it  comes  to  a  parting,  it's  best  to 
part  sudden  and  no  whimpering  about  it. 

Ada.  I'm  not  whimpering,  and  I'm  not  parting, 
neither.  But  he'll  whimper  to-night  when  my 
mother  sets  about  him. 

Maggie.     That'll  do.     [She  opens  door.] 

Ada.     Will  Mossop,  you'll  come  home  to  trouble 
to-night.     I'm  telling  you !     [She  goes.] 
Y,       Willie.     I'd  really  rather  wed  Ada,  Maggie,  if 
W^  it's  all  same  to  you. 

134  1 


I>!1 


HOBSON'S  CHOICE  Act  I 


IVIaggie.     Why?     Because  of  her  mother? 

Willie.  She's  a  terrible  rough  side  to  her  tongue, 
has  Mrs.  Figgins. 

Maggie.     Are  you  afraid  of  her? 

Willie  [hesitates,  then  says].     Yes. 

Maggie.     You  needn't  be. 

Willie.  Yes,  but  you  don't  know  her.  She'll 
jaw  me  till  I'm  black  in  the  face  when  I  go  home  to- 
night. 

Maggie.     You  won't  go  home  to-night. 

Willie.     Not  go! 

Maggie.  You've  done  with  lodging  there.  You'll 
go  to  Tubby  Wadlow's  when  you  knock  off  work  and 
Tubby  'uU  go  round  to  Mrs.  Figgins  for  your  things. 

Willie.  And  I'm  not  to  go  back  there  never  no 
more? 

Maggie.     No. 

Willie.  It's  like  an  'appy  dream.  Eh,  Maggie, 
you  do  manage  things. 

Maggie.  And  while  Tubby's  there  you  can  go 
round  and  see  about  putting  the  banns  up  for  us  two. 

W^iLLiE.  Banns!  Oh,  but  I'm  hardly  used  to  the 
idea  yet. 

Maggie.     You'll  have  three  weeks  to  get  used  to 
it  in.     Now  you  can  kiss  me.  Will. 
[35  1 


Act  I  HOBSON'S  CHOICE 

Willie.     That's  forcing  things  a  bit,  and  all.     It's 
like  saying  I  agree  to  everything,  a  kiss  is. 

Maggie.     Yes. 

Willie.     And  I  don't  agree  yet.     I'm 

Maggie.     Come  along. 

[Alice  and  Vickey  enter  from  living  apart- 
ments.] 
Do  what  I  tell  you,  Will. 

Willie.     Now.^    With  them  here? 

Maggie.     Yes. 

AVillie  [pause].     I  couldn't.     [He  dives  for  trapy 
runs  down,  and  closes  it.] 

Alice.     What's  the  matter  with  Willie? 

Maggie.     He's  a  bit  upset  because  I've  told  him 
he's  to  marry  me.     Is  dinner  cooking  nicely? 

AiACE.     You're  going  to   marry  Willie  Mossop! 
WiUie  Mossop ! 

Vickey.     You've  kept  it  quiet,  Maggie. 

Maggie.     You  know  about  it  pretty  near  as  soon 
as  Willie  does  himself. 

Vickey.     Well,  I  don't  know! 

Alice.     I   know,  and   if   you're  afraid  to  speak 
your     thoughts,    I'm    not.      Look    here,     Maggie, 
what  you  do  touches  us,  and  you're  mistaken  if  you 
think  I'll  own  W'illie  Mossop  for  my  brother-in-law. 
[36  1 


HOBSON'S  CHOICE  Act  1 

Maggie.  Is  there  supposed  to  be  some  disgrace 
in  him? 

Alice.  You  ask  father  if  there's  disgrace.  And 
look  at  me.  I'd  hopes  of  Albert  Prosser  till  this 
happened. 

Maggie.  You'll  marry  Albert  Prosser  when  he's 
able,  and  that'll  be  when  he  starts  spending  less  on 
laundry  bills  and  hair  cream. 

[HoBSON  enters  from  the  street.] 

HoBsoN.     Well,  what  about  that  dinner? 

]\L\GGiE.     It'll  be  ready  in  ten  minutes. 

HoBSON.     You  said  one  o'clock. 

Maggie.  Yes,  father.  One  for  half-past.  If 
you'll  wash  your  hands  it'll  be  ready  as  soon  as  you 
are. 

HoBsoN.  I  won't  wash  my  hands.  I  don't  hold 
with  such  finicking  ways,  and  well  you  know  it. 

Vickey.  Father,  have  you  heard  the  news  about 
our  Maggie? 

HoBsoN.  News?  There  is  no  news.  It's  the 
same  old  tale.  Uppishness.  You'd  keep  a  starving 
man  from  the  meat  he  earns  in  the  sweat  of  his  brow, 
would  you?     I'll  put  you  in  your  places.     I'll 

IVIaggie.     Don't  lose  your  temper,  father.     You'll 
maybe  need  it  soon  when  Vickey  speaks. 
[37  1 


Act  I  HOBSON'S  CHOICE 

HoBsoN.     What's  Vickey  been  doing? 

ViCKEY.  Nothing.  It's  about  Will  Mossop, 
father. 

HoBSON.     Will? 

Alice.     Yes.     WTiat's  your  opinion  of  Will? 

HoBsoN.  A  decent  lad.  I've  nowt  against  him 
that  I  know  of. 

Alice.     Would  you  like  him  in  the  family? 

HoBSON.     Whose  family? 

Vickey.     Yours. 

Maggie.  I'm  going  to  marry  Willie,  father. 
That's  what  all  the  fuss  is  about. 

HoBsoN.     Marry — you — Mossop ! 

Maggie.  You  thought  me  past  the  marrying 
age.     I'm  not.     That's  all. 

HoBsoN.  Didn't  you  hear  me  say  I'd  do  the  choos- 
ing when  it  came  to  a  question  of  husbands? 

Maggie.     You  said  I  was  too  old  to  get  a  husband. 

HoBSON.     You  are.     You  all  are. 

Vickey.     Father! 

HoBSON.  And  if  you're  not,  it  makes  no  matter. 
I'll  have  no  husbands  here. 

Alice.     But  you  said 

HoBSON.  I've  changed  my  mind.  I've  learnt 
some  things  since  then.  There's  a  lot  too  much  ex- 
[38] 


HOBSON'S  CHOICE  Act  I 

pected  of  a  father  nowadays.     There'll  be  no  wed- 
dings here. 

Alice.     Oh,  father! 

HoBsoN.  Go  and  get  my  dinner  served  and  talk 
less.  Go  on  now.  I*m  not  in  right  temper  to  be 
crossed. 

[He  drives  Alice  and  Vickey  before  him.  They 
go  out  centre.  But  MjlGGIk  stands  in  his  way  as 
he  follows  and  she  closes  the  door.  She  looks 
at  him  from  the  stair.] 

IVIaggie.  You  and  I  'ull  be  straight  with  one  an- 
other, father.  I'm  not  a  fool  and  you're  not  a  fool, 
and  things  may  as  well  be  put  in  their  places  as  left 
untidy. 

HoBSON.  I  tell  you  my  mind's  made  up.  You 
can't  have  Willie  Mossop.  Why,  lass,  his  father 
was  a  workhouse  brat.     A  come  by  chance. 

Maggie.  It's  news  to  me  we're  snobs  in  Salford. 
I  have  Willie  Mossop.  I've  to  settle  my  life's  course, 
and  a  good  course,  too,  so  think  on. 

HoBsoN.  I'd  be  the  laughing-stock  of  the  place 
if  I  allowed  it.  I  won't  have  it,  Maggie.  It's  hardly 
decent  at  your  time  of  life. 

Maggie.     I'm   thirty   and   I'm   marrying   Willie 
Mossop.     And  now  I'll  tell  you  my  terms. 
[39  1 


Act  I  HOBSON'S  CHOICE 

HoBSON.  You're  in  a  nice  position  to  state  terms, 
my  lass. 

]VL\GGiE.  You  will  pay  my  man,  Will  Mossop, 
the  same  wages  as  before.  x\nd  as  for  me,  IVe  given 
you  the  better  part  of  twenty  years  of  work  without 
wages.  I'll  work  eight  hours  a  day  in  future  and  you 
will  pay  me  fifteen  shillings  by  the  week. 

HoBSON.     Do  you  think  I'm  made  of  brass? 

Maggie.  You'll  soon  be  made  of  less  than  you 
are  if  you  let  Willie  go.  And  if  Willie  goes,  I  go. 
That's  what  you've  got  to  face. 

HoBSON.  I  might  face  it,  Maggie.  Shop  hands 
are  cheap. 

Maggie.  Cheap  ones  are  cheap.  The  sort  you'd 
have  to  watch  all  day,  and  you'd  feel  happy  helping 
them  to  tie  up  parcels  and  sell  laces  with  Sudsbury 
and  Heeler  and  Minns  supping  their  ale  without  j  ou. 
I'm  value  to  you,  so's  my  man;  and  you  can  boast 
it  at  the  '*Moonraker's"  that  your  daughter  Maggie's 
made  the  strangest,  finest  match  a  woman's  made 
this  fifty  year.  And  you  can  put  your  hand  in  your 
pocket  and  do  what  I  propose. 

HoBsoN.  I'll  show  you  what  I  propose,  Maggie. 
[He  lifts  trap  and  calls.]  Will  Mossop!  [He  un- 
buckles belt.]  I  cannot  leather  you,  my  lass.  You're 
[40  1 


HOBSON'S  CHOICE  Act  I 

female,  and  exempt,  but  I  can  leather  him.     Come 
up.  Will  Mossop. 

[Will  comes  up  trap.] 
You've  taken  up  with  my  Maggie,  I  hear.     [He  con- 
ceals strap.] 

Willie.  Nay,  I'm  not.  She's  done  the  taking 
up. 

HoBSON.  Well,  Willie,  either  way,  you've  fallen 
on  misfortune.  Love's  led  you  astray,  and  I  feel 
bound  to  put  you  right. 

Willie.     Maggie,  what's  this? 

IVIaggie.     I'm  watching  you,  my  lad. 

HoBSON.  Mind,  WiUie,  you  can  keep  your  job. 
I  don't  bear  malice,  but  we  must  beat  the  love  from 
your  body,  and  every  morning  you  come  here  to  work 
with  love  still  sitting  in  you,  you'll  get  a  leathering. 

Willie.  You'll  not  beat  love  in  me.  You're 
making  a  great  mistake,  ^Ir.  Hobson,  and 

HoBSON.  You'll  put  aside  your  weakness  for 
my  Maggie  if  you've  a  liking  for  a  sound  skin. 
You'll  waste  a  gradely  lot  of  bri^'at  chemist's  if 
I  am  at  you  for  a  week  with  this.  [He  sivings  the 
strap.] 

Willie.     I'm  none  wanting  thy  Maggie,  it's  her 
that's  after  me,  but  I'll  tell  you  this,  Mr.  Hobson, 
[41] 


Act  I  HOBSON'S  CHOICE 

if  you  touch  me  with  that  belt,  I'll  take  her  quick, 
aye,  and  stick  to  her  like  glue. 

HoBSON.     There's  nobbut  one  answer  to  that  kind 
of  talk,  my  lad.     [He  strikes  with  belt.] 

Willie.  And  I've  nobbut  one  answer  back. 
Maggie,  I've  none  kissed  you  yet.  I  shirked  before. 
But,  by  gum,  I'll  kiss  you  now,  and  take  you  and 
hold  you.  And  if  Mr.  Hobson  raises  up  that  strap 
again,  I'll  do  more.  I'll  walk  straight  out  of  shop 
with  thee  and  us  two  'uU  set  up  for  ourselves. 

Maggie.     Willie!     I  knew  you  had  it  in  you,  lad. 
[She  kisses  him.] 

[Hobson  stands  in  amazed  indecision.] 

Curtain 


ACT  II 


ACT  II 

Scene  I 

A  month  later.  The  shop  as  Act  I.  It  is  about  mid- 
day. Alice  is  at  Maggie's  place  by  the  desk  and 
ViCKEY  is  also  behind  the  counter.  The  trap  is 
open  and  Tubby  leans  against  the  counter  by 
Alice. 

Alice.     I'm  sure  I  don't  know  what  to  tell  you  to 
do,  Tubby. 

Tubby.     There's  nothing  in  at  all  to  start  on, 
Miss  Alice.     We're  worked  up. 

x\lice.     Well,  father's  out  and  I  can't  help  you. 

Tubby.     He'll  play  old  Harry  if  he  comes  in  and 
finds  us  doing  nowt  in  the  workroom. 

VicKEY.     Then  do  something.     We're  not  stop- 
ping you. 

Tubby.     You're  not  telling  me  neither.     And  I'm 
supposed  to  take  my  orders  from  the  shop. 

Alice.     I  don't  know  what  to  tell  you.     Nobody 
seems  to  want  any  boots  made. 
[45] 


Act  II  HOBSON'S  CHOICE 

Tubby.  The  high-class  trade  has  dropped  Hke  a 
stone  this  last  month.  Of  course  we  can  go  on  mak- 
ing clogs  for  stock  if  you  like. 

Alice.     Then  you'd  better. 

Tubby.  You  know  what's  got  by  selling  clogs 
won't  pay  the  rent,  let  alone  wages,  but  if  clogs  are 
your  orders.  Miss  Alice [He  moves  towards  trap.] 

Alice.     You  suggested  it. 

Tubby.  I  made  the  remark.  But  I'm  not  a  rash 
man,  and  I'm  not  going  to  be  responsible  to  the  mas- 
ter with  his  temper  so  nowty  and  all  since  Miss  Mag- 
gie went. 

Alice.  Oh,  dear!  What  would  Miss  Maggie 
have  told  you  to  do? 

Tubby.  I  couldn't  tell  you  that,  Miss,  I'm  sure.  I 
don't  recollect  things  being  as  slack  as  this  in  her  time. 

VicKEY.  You  don't  help  us  much  for  an  intelli- 
gent foreman. 

Tubby.  When  you've  told  me  what  to  do,  I'll  use 
my  intelligence  and  see  it's  done  properly. 

Alice.     Then  go  and  make  clogs. 

Tubby.     Them's  your  orders? 

Alice.    Yes. 

Tubby.     Thank  you.  Miss  Alice. 

[Tubby  goes  down  trap  and  closes  it.] 
[46  1 


HOBSON'S  CHOICE  Act  II 

Alice.     I  wonder  if  IVe  done  right. 

VicKEY.     That's  your  look-out. 

Alice.  I  don't  care.  It's  father's  place  to  be 
here  to  tell  them  what  to  do. 

Vickey.     Maggie  used  to  manage  without  him. 

Alice.  Oh,  ye?.  Go  on.  I  know  as  well  as  you 
do  that  it's  father's  fault.  He  ought  to  look  after 
his  business  himself  instead  of  wasting  more  time 
than  ever  in  the  "Moonraker's,"  but  you  needn't 
be  snappy  with  me  about  it. 

Alice.  I'm  not  snappy  in  myself.  It's  these 
figures.     I  can't  get  tliem  right.     What's  17  and  25? 

Vickey  [promptly].     Fifty-two,  of  course. 

Alice.  Well,  it  doesn't  balance  right.  Oh,  I 
wish  I  was  married  and  out  of  it. 

Vickey.     Same  here. 

Alice.     You  ! 

Vickey.     You  needn't  think  you're  the  only  one. 

Alice.  Well,  you're  sly,  Vickey  Hobson.  You've 
kept  it  to  yourself. 

Vickey.  It's  just  as  well  now  that  I  did.  Mag- 
gie's spoilt  our  chances  forever.  Nobody's  fretting 
to  get  Willie  Mossop  for  a  brother-in-law. 

[Maggie  enters,  followed  by  Will  and  Freddy 
Beenstock.     Maggie  and  W^ill  are  actu- 
[47] 


Ad  II  HOBSON'S  CHOICE 

ally  about  to  be  married,  but  their  dress  does 
not  specially  indicate  it.  They  are  not  in 
their  older  clothes,  and  that  is  all.  Freddy 
is  smarter  than  either ,  though  only  in  his 
everyday  dress.  He  is  not  at  all  a  blood,  but 
the  respectable  son  of  a  respectable  tradesman, 
and  his  appearance  is  such  as  to  justify  his 
attractiveness  in  Vickey's  eyes.] 
Alice.     Maggie,  you  here! 

Maggie.  I  thought  we'd  just  drop  in.  Vickey, 
what's  this  that  Mr.  Beenstock's  telUng  me  about 
you  and  him? 

Vickey  [sullenly].  If  he's  told  you  I  suppose  you 
know. 

Freddy  [smilingly].     She  got  it  out  of  me,  Vickey. 
Vickey.     I  don't  know  that  it's  any  business  of 
yours,  Maggie.     [She  comes  round  counter.] 

Maggie.     You'll  never  get  no  farther  with  it  by 

yourselves  from  what  I  hear  of  father's  carryings-on. 

Vickey.     That's    your    fault.     Yours    and    his. 

[Indicating  Willie,  who  is  trying  to  efface  himself 

at  the  back.] 

Maggie  [sharply].  Leave  that  alone.  I'm  here 
to  help  you  if  you'll  have  my  help. 

[Vickey  would  say  "A^o"  but ] 

[48  1 


HOBSON'S  CHOICE  Act  II 

Freddy.  It's  very  good  of  you,  Miss  Maggie,  I 
must  say.     Your  father  has  turned  very  awkward. 

Maggie.  I  reckon  he'll  change.  Has  your 
young  man  been  in  yet  this  morning,  Alice? 

Alice  [indignantly].     My  young 

^Iaggie.     Albert  Prosser. 

Alice.     No. 

Maggie.     Do  you  expect  him? 

Alice.  He's  not  been  here  so  often  since  you  and 
Willie  Mossop  got 

Maggie  [sharply].     Since  when? 

Alice.  Since  you  made  him  buy  that  pair  of 
boots  he  didn't  want. 

Maggie.  I  see.  He  didn't  like  paying  for  tak- 
ing his  pleasure  in  our  shop.  Well,  if  he's  not  ex- 
pected, somebody  must  go  for  him.  Prosser,  Pilk- 
ington  &  Prosser,  Solicitors  of  Bexley  Square.  That's 
right,  isn't  it? 

Alice.     Yes.     Albert's  and  Prosser. 

Maggie.  Aye?  Quite  a  big  man  in  his  way. 
Then,  will  you  go  and  fetch  him,  Mr.  Beenstock? 
Tell  him  to  bring  the  paper  with  him. 

Vickey.     You're  ordering  folk  about  a  bit. 

Maggie.     I'm  used  to  it. 

Freddy.     It's  all  right,  Vickey. 
[49  1 


Act  II  HOBSON'S  CHOICE 

Alice.  Is  it?  Suppose  father  comes  in  and  finds 
Albert  and  Freddy  here? 

Maggie.     He  won't. 

Alice.     He*s  bej^ond  his  time  already. 

Maggie.  T  know.  You  must  have  worried  father 
very  badly  since  I  went,  Alice. 

Alice.     Why? 

Maggie.     Tell  them,  Mr.  Beenstock. 

Freddy.  Well,  the  fact  is,  Mr.  Hobson  won't  come 
because  he's  at  our  place  just  now. 

ViCKEY.  At  your  corn  warehouse?  What's  father 
doing  there? 

Freddy.     He's — he's  sleeping,  Vickey.  ' 

Alice.     Sleeping? 

Freddy.  You  see,  we've  a  cellar  trap  in  our  place 
that  opens  in  the  pavement  and  your  father — wasn't 
looking  very  carefully  where  he  was  going  and  he 
fell  into  it. 

Vickey.     Fell?     Is  father  hurt? 

Freddy.  He's  snoring  very  loudly,  but  he  isn't 
hurt.     He  fell  soft  on  some  bags. 

Maggie.     Now  you  can  go  for  Albert  Prosser. 

Alice.     Is  that  all  we're  to  be  told? 

Maggie.  It's  all  there  is  to  tell  till  Freddy's  seen 
his  solicitor. 

[50] 


HOBSON'S  CHOICE  Act  II 

Freddy.     I'll  not  be  long. 

Maggie.  Don't.  I've  a  job  here  for  you  when 
you  get  back. 

[Freddy  goes. 

Alice.  I  don't  know  what  you're  aiming  at,  Mag- 
gie, but « — - 

Maggie.  The  difference  between  us  is  that  I  do. 
I  always  did. 

ViCKEY  [indicating  Willie].  It's  a  queer  thing 
you  aimed  at. 

Maggie  [taking  Will's  arm].  I've  done  uncom- 
mon well  myself,  and  I've  come  here  to  put  things 
straight  for  you.  Father  told  you  to  get  married 
and  you  don't  shape. 

Alice.     He  changed  his  mind. 

Maggie.  I  don't  allow  for  folks  to  change  their 
minds.  He  made  his  choice.  He  said  get  married, 
and  you're  going  to. 

Vickey.  You  haven't  made  it  easier  for  us,  you 
know. 

Maggie.     Meaning  Willie? 

Willie.  It  wasn't  my  fault,  Miss  Vickey,  really 
it  wasn't. 

Maggie.     You  call  her  Vickey,  Will. 

Vickey.     No,  he  doesn't. 
[511 


Act  II  HOBSON'S  CHOICE 

Maggie.  He's  in  the  family  or  going  to  be.  And 
I'll  tell  you  this.  If  you  want  your  Freddy,  and  if  you 
want  your  Albert,  you'll  be  respectful  to  my  Willie. 

Alice.     Willie  Mossop  was  our  boot  hand. 

Maggie.  He  was,  and  you'll  let  bygones  be  by- 
gones.    He's  as  good  as  you  are  now,  and  better. 

Willie.     Nay,  come,  Maggie 

Maggie.  Better,  I  say.  They're  shop  assistants. 
You're  your  own  master,  aren't  you? 

Willie.  I've  got  my  name  wrote  up  on  the  win- 
dows, but  I  dunno  so  much  about  being  master. 

Maggie  [producing  card].  That's  his  business 
card.  William  Mossop,  Practical  Boot  and  Shoe 
Maker,  39a  Oldfield  Road,  Salford.  William  Mos- 
sop, Master  Bootmaker!  That's  the  man  you're 
privileged  to  call  by  his  Christian  name.  Aye,  and 
I'll  do  more  for  you  than  let  you  call  him  in  his 
name.  You  can  both  of  you  kiss  him  for  your 
brother-in-law  to  be. 

Willie.  Nay,  Maggie,  I'm  no  great  hand  at 
kissing. 

Maggie  [dryly].  I've  noticed  that.  A  bit  of 
practice  will  do  you  no  harm.     Come  along,  Vickey. 

Alice     [interposing].      But,     Maggie     ...     a 

shop  of  your  own 

[52] 


HOBSON'S  CHOICE  Ad  II 

Maggie  [grimly].     I'm  waiting,  Vickey. 

Willie.  I  don't  see  that  you  ought  to  drive  her 
to  it,  Maggie. 

Maggie.     You  hold  your  hush. 

Alice.  But  however  did  you  manage  it?  Where 
did  the  capital  come  from? 

IVIaggie.  It  came.  Will,  stand  still.  She's  mak- 
ing up  her  mind  to  it. 

Willie.     I'd  just  as  lief  not  put  her  to  the  trouble. 

Maggie.  You'll  take  your  proper  place  in  this 
family,  my  lad,  trouble  or  no  trouble. 

Vickey.  I  don't  see  why  you  should  always  get 
your  way. 

Maggie.  It's  just  a  habit.  Come  along,  now, 
Vickey,  I've  a  lot  to  do  to-day  and  you're  holding 
everything  back. 

Vickey.     It's  under  protest. 

Maggie.    Protest,  but  kiss. 

[Vickey  kisses  W^ill,  who  finds  he  rather  likes 
it] 
Your  turn  now,  Alice. 

Alice.  I'll  do  it  if  you'll  help  me  with  these 
books,  Maggie. 

Maggie.     Books?    Father's  put  you  in  my  place? 

Alice.    Yes. 

[53  1 


Act  II  HOBSON'S  CHOICE 

Maggie.  Then  he  must  take  the  consequences. 
Your  books  aren't  my  affair. 

Alice.     I  think  you  might  help  me,  Maggie. 

Maggie.  I'm  surprised  at  you,  AUce,  I  really  am, 
after  what  you've  just  been  told.  Exposing  your 
books  to  a  rival  shop.  You  ought  to  know  better. 
Will's  waiting.     And  you're  to  kiss  him  hearty  now. 

Alice.     Very  well.     [She  kisses  Will.] 

Willie.  There's  more  in  kissing  nice  young  wo- 
men than  I  thought. 

Maggie.     Don't  get  too  fond  of  it,  my  lad. 

Alice.  Well,  I  hope  you're  satisfied,  Maggie. 
You've  got  your  way  again,  and  now  perhaps  you'll 
tell  us  if  there's  anything  you  want  in  this  shop. 

Maggie.  Eh?  Are  you  trying  to  sell  me  some- 
thing? 

Alice.     I'm  asking  you,  what's  your  business  here? 

Maggie.  I've  told  you  once.  Will  and  me's  tak- 
ing a  day  off  to  put  you  in  the  way  of  getting  wed. 

Vickey.  It  looks  like  things  are  slow  at  your  new 
shop  if  you  can  walk  round  in  your  best  clothes  on  a 
working  day. 

Willie.  It's  not  a  working  day  with  us.  It's  a 
wedding-day. 

Alice.     You've  been  married  this  morning! 
[54] 


HOBSON'S  CHOICE  Ad  II 

Maggie.  Not  us.  I'll  have  my  sisters  there 
when  I  get  wed.     It's  at  one  o'clock  at  St.  Philips's. 

ViCKEY.     But  we  can't  leave  the  shop  to  come. 

Maggie.     Why  not?     Is  trade  so  brisk? 

ViCKEY.     No,  but 

Maggie.  Not  so  much  high-class  trade  doing 
with  you,  eh? 

Alice.     I  don't  see  how  you  knew. 

Maggie.  I'm  good  at  guessing.  You'll  not  miss 
owt  by  coming  with  us  to  church,  and  we'll  expect 
you  at  home  to-night  for  a  wedding-spread. 

ViCKEY.     It's  asking  us  to  approve. 

Maggie.  You  have  approved.  You've  kissed 
the  bridegroom  and  you'll  go  along  with  us.  Father's 
safe  where  he  is. 

Alice.    And  the  shop? 

Maggie.  Tubby  can  see  to  the  shop.  And  that 
reminds  me.  You  can  sell  nje  something.  There 
are  some  rings  in  that  drawer  there,  Vickey. 

ViCKEY.     Brass  rings? 

Maggie.  Yes.  I  want  one.  That's  the  size. 
[She  holds  up  her  wedding-ring  finger.] 

Vickey.     That!     But  you're  not  taking  it  for 

[Vickey  puts  box  of  rings  on  counter.] 

Maggie.  Yes,  I  am.  Will  and  me  aren't  throw^ 
[55] 


Act  II  HOBSON'S  CHOICE 

ing  money  round,  but  we  can  pay  our  way.  There's 
fourpence  for  the  ring.  Gather  it  up,  Vickey.  [Put- 
ting down  money  and  trying  on  rings.] 

Alice.     Wedded  with  a  brass  ring. 

Maggie.  This  one  will  do.  It's  a  nice  fit.  Alice, 
you  haven't  entered  that  sale  in  your  book.  No 
wonder  you're  worried  with  the  accounts  if  that's  the 
way  you  see  to  them.     [She  puts  ring  in  her  bag.] 

Alice.  I'm  a  bit  too  much  astonished  at  you  to 
think  about  accounts.     A  ring  out  of  stock! 

Maggie.     They're  always  out  of  some  one's  stock. 

Vickey.  Well,  I'd  think  shame  to  myself  to  be 
married  with  a  ring  like  that. 

Maggie.  When  folks  can't  afford  the  best  they 
have  to  do  without. 

Vickey.     I'll  take  good  care  I  never  go  without. 

Maggie.  Semi-detached  for  you,  I  suppose,  and 
a  houseful  of  new  furniture. 

Alice.     Haven't  you  furnished? 

Maggie.  We've  made  a  start  at  the  Flat  Iron 
Market. 

Alice.  I'd  stay  single  sooner  than  have  other 
people's  cast-off  sticks  in  my  house.  Where's  your 
pride  gone  to,  Maggie? 

Maggie.  I'm  not  getting  wed  myself  to  help  the 
156  1 


HOBSON'S  CHOICE  Act  II 

furnishing  trade  along.     I  suppose  you'd  turn  your 
nose  up  at  second-hand  stuff,  too,  Vickey? 

ViCKEY.     I'll  start  properly  or  not  at  all. 

Maggie.     Then  you'll  neither  of  you  have  any 
objections  to  my  clearing  out  the  lumber-room  up- 
stairs.    We  brought  a  hand-cart  round  with  us. 
[Will  takes  his  coat  off.] 

Vickey.     You  made  sure  of  things. 

Maggie.  Yes.  Get  upstairs,  Will.  I  told  you 
what  to  bring. 

Alice.     Wait  a  bit. 

Maggie.     Go  on. 

[Will  goes  into  the  house.] 

Alice.  Let  me  tell  you  if  you  claim  the  furniture 
from  your  old  bedroom,  that  it's  my  room  now,  and 
you'll  not  budge  a  stick  of  it. 

Maggie.  I  expected  you'd  promote  yourself, 
Alice.  But  I  said  lumber-room.  There's  a  two-three 
broken  chairs  in  the  attic  and  a  sofa  with  the  springs 
all  gone.     You'll  not  tell  me  they're  of  any  use  to  you. 

Alice.     Nor  to  you,  neither. 

Maggie.  Will's  handy  with  his  fingers.  He'll 
put  in  this  afternoon  mending  them.  They'll  be 
secure  against  you  come  to  sit  on  them  at  supper- 
time  to-night. 

[57] 


Act  II  HOBSON'S  CHOICE 

ViCKEY.  And  that's  the  way  you're  going  to  live ! 
With  cast-off  furniture. 

Maggie.     x\ye.     In  two  cellars  in  Oldfield  Road. 

Alice  [screaming].     A  cellar! 

Maggie.  Two  of  'em,  Alice.  One  to  live  and 
work  in  and  the  other  to  sleep  in. 

Alice.     Well,  it  ud  not  suit  me. 

ViCKEY.     Nor  me. 

Maggie.  It  suits  me  fine.  And  when  me  and 
Will  are  richer  than  the  lot  of  you  together,  it'll  be  a 
grand  satisfaction  to  look  back  and  think  about  how 
we  were  when  we  began. 

[Will  appears  at  centre  door  with  two  crippled 
chairs  artd  begins  to  cross  the  shop.] 

ViCKEY.  Just  a  minute,  Will.  [She  examines  the 
chairs.]     These  chairs  are  not  so  bad. 

Maggie.     You  can  sit  on  one  to-night,  and  see. 

ViCKEY.  You  know,  mended  up,  those  chairs 
would  do  very  well  for  my  kitchen  when  I'm  wed. 

Alice.     Yes,  or  for  mine. 

Maggie.  I  reckon  my  parlor  comes  afuont  of 
your  kitchens,  though. 

VicKEY.  Parlor!  I  thought  you  said  you'd  only 
one  living-room. 

Maggie.     Then  it  might  as  well  be  called  a  parlor 
[58] 


HOBSON'S. CHOICE  Act  II 

as  by  any  other  name.     Put  the  chairs  on  the  hand- 
cart. Will.      •• 

[Will  goes  out  to  street.] 
And  as  for  yoiir  kitchens,  you've  got  none  yet,  and  if 
you  want  my  plan  for  you  to  work,  you'll  just  re- 
member all  I'm  taking  off  you  is  some  crippled  stuff 
that  isn't  yours  and  what  I'm  getting  for  you  is  mar- 
riage portions. 

Alice.    What? 

ViCKEY.     Marriage  portions,  Maggie? 

[Freddy  reenters,  accompanied  by  Albert.] 

Maggie  [to  Vickey  and  Alice].     You'd  better 
put  your  hats  on  now,  or  you'll  be  late  at  the  church. 

Vickey.     Buttaren't  we  to  know  first 

Maggie  [herding  them  to  centre  exit].     You'll  know 
all  right.     Be  quick  with  your  things  now. 

[Alice  and  Vickey  go  out  centre  door. 

Maggie   [turns].     Good  morning,  Albert.     Have 
you  got  what  Freddy  asked  you  for? 

Albert.     Yes,  but  I'm  afraid 

[Will  reenters  from  street.] 

Maggie.     Never  mind  being  afraid.     Freddy,  I 
told  you  I'd  a  job  here  for  you.     You  go  upstairs 
with  Will.     There's  a  sofa  in  come  down.     Get  your 
coat  off  to  it.     Now,  then,  Albert, 
f  59  1 


Act  II  HOBSON'S  CHOICE 


Freddy.     But * 

Maggie.     I've  told  you  what  to  do,  and  you  can't 
do  it  in  your  coat.     If  that  sofa  isn't  here  in  two 
minutes,  I'll  leave  the  lot  of  you  to  tackle  this  your- 
selves and  a  nice  hash  you'll  make  of  it. 
[Freddy  takes  his  coat  off.] 

Freddy.     All  right,  Maggie. 

[Albert  produces  blue  paper.     She  reads.] 

Maggie.     Do  you  call  this  English? 

Albert.     Legal  English,  Miss  Hobson. 

Maggie.  I  thought  it  weren't  the  sort  we  talk 
in  Lancashire.  What  is  it  when  you've  got  behind 
the  whereases  and  the  saids  and  to  wits? 

Albert.  It's  what  you  told  Freddy  to  instruct 
me.  Action  against  Henry  Horatio  Hobson  for 
trespass  on  the  premises  of  Jonathan  Beenstock  & 
Co.,  Corn  Merchants,  of  Chapel  Street,  Salford,  with 
damages  to  certain  corn  bags  caused  by  falling  on 
them  and  further  damages  claimed  for  spying  on  the 
trade  secrets  of  the  aforesaid  J.  B.  &  Co. 

Maggie.  Well,  I'll  take  your  word  that  this 
means  that — I  shouldn't  have  thought  it,  but  I  sup- 
pose lawyers  are  like  doctors.  They've  each  a  secret 
language  of  their  own  so  that  if  you  get  a  letter  from 
one  lawyer  you've  to  take  it  to  another  to  get  it 
[60] 


HOBSON'S  CHOICE  Ad  II 

read,  just  like  a  doctor  sends  you  to  a  chemist  with  a 
rigmarole  that  no  one  else  can  read,  so  they  can 
charge  you  what  they  like  for  a  drop  of  colored 
water. 

Albert.  I've  made  this  out  to  your  instructions. 
Miss  Hobson,  but  I'm  far  from  saying  it*s  good 
law,  and  I'd  not  be  keen  on  going  into  court  with 
it. 

Maggie.  Nobody  asked  you  to.  It  won't  come 
into  court. 

[Will  and  Freddy  enter  centre  with  a  ram- 
shaclie  horse-hair  sofa.] 
Op^  that  door  for  them,  Albert. 

[Albert  opens  street  door.     They  pass  out.] 
What's   the   time?     You   can   see   the   clock  from 
there. 

Albert  [outside  street  door].  It's  a  quarter  to 
one. 

Maggie  [flying  across  to  centre  door,  opening  it,  and 
calling].  Girls,  if  you're  late  for  my  wedding  I'll 
ne\^er  forgive  you. 

[She  turns  as  Will  and  Freddie  return.] 
Put  your  coats  on.     Now,  then,  Freddy,  you  take 
that  paper  and  put  it  on  my  father  in  your  cellar. 

Freddy.    Now? 

[61] 


Ad  II  HOBSON'S  CHOICE 

Maggie.  Now?  Yes,  of  course  now.  He  might 
waken  any  time. 

Freddy.  He  looked  fast  enough.  Aren't  I  to 
come  to  the  church? 

Maggie.  Yes,  if  you  do  that  quick  enough  to 
get  there  before  we're  through. 

Freddy.  All  right.  [He  goes  out,  focheting  the 
paper.] 

Maggie.  Now  there's  that  handcart.  Are  we  to 
take  it  with  us? 

Albert.     To  church!     You  can't  do  that. 

Willie.     I'll  take  it  home. 

Maggie.  And  have  me  waiting  for  you  at  St. 
Philips's.     That's  not  for  me,  my  lad. 

Albert.     You  can't  very  well  leave  it  where  it  is. 

Maggie.  No.  There's  only  one  thing  for  it. 
You'll  have  to  take  it  to  our  place,  Albert. 

Albert.     Me! 

Maggie.  There's  the  key.  [Hands  it  from  her 
hag.]     It's  39a  Oldfield  Road. 

Albert.  Yes,  but  to  push  a  handcart  through 
Salford  in  broad  daylight! 

Maggie.     It  won't  dirty  your  collar. 

Albert.     Suppose  some  of  my  friends  see  me? 

Maggie.  Look  here,  my  lad,  if  you're  too  proud 
[62  1 


HOBSON'S  CHOICE  Act  II 

to  do  a  job  like  that,  you're  not  the  husband  for  my 
sister. 

Albert.  It's  the  look  of  the  thing.  Can't  you 
send  somebody  from  here? 

Maggie.  No.  You  can  think  it  over.  [She 
raises  trap,]     Tubby! 

Tubby  [below].  Yes,  Miss.  [He  appears  halfway 
up  trap.]     Why,  it's  Miss  Maggie! 

Maggie.  Come  up.  Tubby.  You're  in  charge 
of  the  shop.     We'll  all  be  out  for  a  while. 

Tubby.  I'll  be  up  in  half  a  minute.  Miss  Maggie. 
[He  goes  down,  leaving  trap  open.] 

Maggie.     Well,  Albert  Prosser? 

Albert.     I  suppose  I  must. 

Maggie.  That's  right.  We'll  call  it  your  wed- 
ding gift  to  me,  and  I'll  allow  you're  putting  yourself 
out  a  bit  for  me. 

[Going  with  him  to  the  door.     He  goes.     She 
turns.] 
Well,  Will,  you've  not  had  much  to  say  for  yourself 
to-day.     Howst  feeling,  lad? 

Willie.     I'm  going  through  with  it,  Maggie. 

Maggie.     Eh? 

Willie.  My  mind's  made  up.  I've  got  wrought 
up  to  point.     I'm  ready. 

[G3  1 


Act  II  HOBSON'S  CHOICE 

Maggie.  It's  church  we're  going  to,  not  the 
dentist's. 

Willie.  I  know.  You  get  rid  of  summat  at 
dentist's,  but  it's  taking  summat  on  to  go  to  church 
with  a  wench,  and  the  Lord  knows  what. 

Maggie.  Sithee,  Will,  I've  a  respect  for  church. 
Yon's  not  the  place  for  lies.  The  parson's  going  to 
ask  you  will  you  have  me  and  you'll  either  answer 
truthfully  or  not  at  all.     If  you're  not  willing,  just 

say  so  now,  and 

Willie.     I'll  tell  him  "yes." 

IVIaggie.     And  truthfully? 

Willie.     Yes,  Maggie.     I'm  resigned. 

[Alice  and  Vickey  enter  centre  in  their  Sunday 
clothes — the  same  at  which  Hobson  grew  in- 
dignant in  Act  I.] 
Alice.     We're  ready,  Maggie. 
Maggie.     And    time    you  were.     It's   not   your 
weddings  that  you're  dressing  for.    [By  trap.]     Come 
up,  Tubby,  and  keep  an  eye  on  things. 
Vickey  [to  Will].     Have  you  got  the  ring? 
Maggie.     I  have.     Do  you  think  I'd  trust  him 
to  remember? 

[Maggie  goes  off  with  Will.     Vickey  and 
Alice  are  following.] 
[64] 


HOBSON'S  CHOICE  Act  II 

Scene  II 

The  cellar  in  Oldfield  Road  is  at  once  workroom,  shop^ 
and  living-room.  It  is  entered  from  the  left  corner 
hy  a  door  at  the  toy  of  a  flight  of  some  seven  stairs. 
Its  three  windows  are  high  up  at  the  back — not  shop 
windows,  hut  simply  to  give  light.  Each  window 
has  on  it  ''William  Mossop,  Practical  Boot-maker''^ 
reversed  as  seen  from  the  inside  and  is  illuminated 
dimly  from  outside  hy  a  neighboring  street  lamp. 

Inside  a  door  right  leads  to  the  bedroom.  Up  stage 
right  is  a  small  screen  or  partition  whose  purpose  is 
to  conceal  the  sink.  A  shoemaker's  bench,  leather  and 
tackle  are  against  the  wall  left  above  the  fireplace. 
Below  the  door  right  is  a  small  dresser.  Table  centre. 
Seating  accommodation  consists  solely  of  the  sofa 
and  the  two  chairs  taken  from  Hobson's,  now  re- 
paired and  covered  with  cretonne.  The  sofa  is  right 
of  the  table,  the  two  chairs  left.  Crowded  on  the 
sofa  are,  in  order,  from  down  up,  Albert,  Alice, 
VicKEY,  Fred. 

As  the  curtain  rises,  the  four  are  standing,  tea-cups 

in  hand,  saying  together  "  The  Bride  and  Bridegroom. '' 

They  drink  and  sit.     On  the  chair  down  stage  is 

Maggie.     From  the  other  chair,  centre,  behind  table, 

[65  1 


Ad  II  HOBSONS  CHOICE 

Will  rises,  nervously ,  and  rushes  his  little  speech 
like  a  child  who  has  learnt  a  lesson.  The  table  has 
hot-house  flowers  {in  a  basin)  and  the  remains  of  a 
meal  at  which  tea  only  has  been  drunk,  and  the  feast 
is  represented  by  the  sections  of  a  large  pork  pie  and 
a  small  wedding  cake.  As  Will  rises,  Albert 
hammers  on  the  table.     Alice  suppresses  him. 

Willie.  It's  a  very  great  pleasure  to  us  to  see 
you  here  to-night.  It's  an  honor  you  do  us,  and  I 
assure  you,  speaking  for  my — my  wife,  as  well  as  for 
myself,  that  the — the 

Maggie.     Generous. 

Willie.  Oh,  aye.  That's  it.  That  the  generous 
warmth  of  the  sentiments  so  cordially  expressed  by 
Mr.  Beenstock  and  so  enthusiastically  seconded  by 
— no,  I've  gotten  that  wrong  road  round — expressed 
by  Mr.  Prosser  and  seconded  by  Mr.  Beenstock — 
will  never  be  forgotten  by  either  my  life  partner  or 
seK — and — and  I'd  like  to  drink  this  toast  to  you  in 
my  own  house.  Our  guests  and  may  they  all  be  mar- 
ried soon  themselves. 

Maggie  [rising  and  drinking  with  Will].  Our 
guests. 

[Will  and  Maggie  sit.] 
[66] 


HOBSON'S  CHOICE  Act  II 


Albert  [solemnly  rising] .     In  rising  to  respond- 


Alice  [tugging  Ms  coat].  Sit  down.  We've  had 
enough  of  speeches.  I  know  men  fancy  themselves 
when  they're  talking,  but  you've  had  one  turn  and 
you  needn't  start  again. 

Albert.     But  we  ought  to  thank  him,  Alice. 

Alice.  I  daresay.  But  you'll  not  speak  as 
well  as  he  did,  so  we  can  leave  it  with  a  good 
wind-up.  I'm  free  to  own  you  took  me  by  surprise. 
Will. 

Freddy.     Very  neat  speech  indeed. 

VicKEY.     Who  taught  you.  Will? 

Willie.     I've  been  learning  a  lot  lately. 

Alice.  I  thought  that  speech  never  came  natural 
from  Will. 

Maggie.     I'm  educating  him. 

Freddy.     Very  apt  pupil,  I  must  say. 

Maggie.  He'll  do.  Another  twenty  years  and 
I  know  which  of  you  three  men  'ull  be  thought  most 
of  at  the  Bank. 

Freddy.     That's  looking  ahead  a  bit. 

Maggie.  I'll  admit  it  needs  imagination  to  see  it 
now. 

Albert.  Well,  the  start's  all  right,  you  know. 
Snug  little  rooms.  Shop  of  your  own.  And  so  on. 
[67  1 


Act  II  HOBSON'S  CHOICE 

I  was  wondering  where  you  raised  the  capital  for  this, 
Maggie. 

Maggie.  I?  You  mustn't  call  it  my  shop.  It's 
his. 

Alice.  Do  you  mean  to  tell  me  that  Willie  found 
the  capital? 

Maggie.     He's  the  saving  sort. 

Alice.  He  must  be  if  you've  done  this  out  of 
what  father  used  to  pay  him. 

Maggie.  Well,  we  haven't.  Not  altogether. 
We've  had  help. 

Albert.    Ah! 

ViCKEY.  It's  a  mystery  to  me  where  you  got  it 
from. 

Albert.     Ah ! 

Alice  [rising].  Well,  I  think  we  ought  to  be  get- 
ting home,  Maggie. 

Maggie  [rising,  as  do  all].  I  shouldn't  marvel.  I 
reckon  Tubby's  a  bit  tired  of  looking  after  the  shop 
by  now,  and  if  father's  wakened  up  and  come  in 

Alice.     That's  it.     I'm  a  bit  nervous. 

Maggie.  He'll  have  an  edge  on  his  temper. 
Come  and  put  your  hats  on. 

[She  is  going  right  with  Alice  and  Vickey,  then 
stops.] 

[68] 


HOBSON'S  CHOICE  Act  II 

Willie,   we'll   need   this   table   when   they're   gone. 
You'd  better  be  clearing  the  things  away. 
Willie.     Yes,  Maggie. 

[IVIaggie  turns  to  right.] 

Fred.     But — you 

Albert.     Oh,  Lord! 

[They  laugh.     Maggie  turns  quietly.] 
Maggie  [quite  calmly].     And  you  and  Fred  can 
just  lend  him  a  hand  with  the  washing  up,  Albert. 
ViCKEY  [really  outraged].     Maggie,  we're  guests. .. 
Maggie.     I  know.     Only  Albert  laughed  at  Wil- 
lie, and  washing  up  'ull  maybe  make  him  think  on 
that  it's  not  allowed. 

[She  ushers  Alice  and  Vickey  out  right  and  fol- 
lows.    Willie   begins  to  put  pots  on  tray 
which  he  gets  from  behind  screen  right.] 
Albert  [after  he  and  Fred  have  looked  at  each  other, 
then  at  Will,  then  at  each  other  again].     Are  you 
going  to  wash  up  pots? 
Freddy.    Are  you? 

Albert.  I  look  at  it  like  this  myself.  All  being 
well,  you  and  I  are  marrying  into  this  family  and  we 
know  what  Maggie  is.  If  we  start  giving  in  to  her 
now,  she'll  be  a  nuisance  to  us  all  our  lives. 

Freddy.     That's  right  enough,  but  there's  this 
[69  1 


Act  II  HOBSON'S  CHOICE 

plan  of  hers  to  get  us  married.     x\re  you  prepared 
to  work  it  for  us? 

Albert.     I'm  not.     Anything  but. 

Freddy.  Then  till  she's  done  it  we're  to  keep 
the  sweet  side  of  Maggie. 

Albert.     But,  washing  pots! 

[There  is  a  pause.     They  look  at  Will.] 

Freddy.     What  would  j'^ou  do  in  our  place,  Will? 

Willie.  Please  yourselves.  I'm  getting  on  with 
what  she  told  me. 

Freddy.     You're  married  to  her.     We  aren't. 

Albert.  What  do  you  need  the  table  for  in  such 
a  hurry? 

Willie.     Nay,  I'm  not  in  any  hurry  myself. 

Freddy.     She  is. 

Willie.  It'll  be  for  my  lessons,  I  reckon.  She's 
schooling  me. 

Freddy.     And  don't  you  want  to  learn,  then? 

Willie.  'Tisn't  that.  I — ^just  don't  want  to 
be  rude  to  you — turning  you  out  so  early.  I  don't 
see  you  need  to  go  away  so  soon. 

Albert.     W^hy  not? 

Willie.     I'm  fond  of  a  bit  of  company. 

Albert.  Do  you  want  company  on  your  wedding 
night? 

[70] 


HOBSON'S  CHOICE  Act  II 

Willie.     I  don't  favor  your  going  so  soon. 

Freddy.  He's  afraid  to  be  alone  with  her. 
That's  what  it  is.     He's  shy  of  his  wife. 

Willie.  That's  a  fact.  I've  not  been  married 
before,  you  see.  I've  not  been  left  alone  with  her, 
either.  Up  to  now  she's  been  coming  round  to 
where  I  lodged  at  Tubby  Grimshaw's  to  give  me  my 
lessons.  It's  different  now,  and  I  freely  own  I'm 
feeling  awkward-like.  I'd  be  deeply  obliged  if  you 
would  stay  on  a  bit  to  help  to — to  thaw  the  ice  for 
me. 

Freddy.  You've  been  engaged  to  her,  haven't 
you? 

Willie.  Aye,  but  it  weren't  for  long.  And  you 
see,  Maggie's  not  the  sort  you  get  familiar  with. 

Freddy.  You  had  quite  long  enough  to  thaw  the 
ice.     It's  not  our  job  to  do  your  melting  for  you. 

Albert.  No.  Fred,  these  pots  need  washing. 
We  will  wash  them. 

[Fred  and  Albert  go  up  behind  screen.   Water 
runs.     They  are  seen  flourishing  towels.] 

Willie.  Fred,  would  you  like  it  yourself  with — 
with  a  wench  like  Maggie  .^^ 

Freddy.  That's  not  the  point.  It  wasn't  me 
she  married. 

[711 


Act  II  HOBSON'S  CHOICE 

Willie.  It's  that  being  alone  with  her  that  wor- 
ries me,  and  I  did  think  you'd  stand  by  a  fellow  man 
to  make  things  not  so  strange  at  first. 

Albert.  That's  not  the  way  we  look  at  it.  Hurry 
up  with  those  cups,  Fred. 

[Maggie  enters  from  right  with  Vickey  and 
Alice  in  outdoor  clothes.] 

Maggie.     Have  you  broken  anything  yet,  Albert? 

Albert  [indignantly].     Broken.^     No. 

Maggie.     Too  slow  to,  I  expect. 

Freddy.  I  must  say  you  don't  show  much  grati- 
tude. 

Albert.  Aren't  you  at  all  surprised  to  find  us 
doing  this? 

Maggie.     Surprised?     I  told  you  to  do  it. 

Freddy.     Yes,  but 

Maggie  [taking  towel  from  him].     You  can  stop 
now.     I'll  finish  when  you're  gone. 
[Knock  at  door  upstairs ,  left.] 

Alice.     Who's  that? 

Maggie.  Some  one  who  can't  read,  I  reckon. 
You  hung  that  card  on  door.  Will? 

Willie.  Aye,  it's  there.  And  you  wrote  it, 
Maggie. 

Maggie.     I  knew  better  than  to  trust  to  you. 
[72  1 


HOBSON'S  CHOICE  Act  II 

"Business  suspended  for  the  day"  it  says,  and  they 
that  can't  read  it  can  go  on  knocking. 

HoBsON  [off  left  upstairs].     Are  you  in,  Maggie? 

ViCKEY.     It's  father! 

Albert.     Oh,  Lord! 

Maggie.  What's  the  matter?  Are  you  afraid  of 
him? 

Freddy.     Well,  I  think,  all  things  considered,  and 


seemg 

Maggie.    All  right.    We'll  consider 'em.    You  can 
go  into  the  bedroom,  the  lot  of  you.     .     .     .     No,  not 
you,  Willie.     The  rest.     I'll  shout  when  I  want  you. 
Alice.     When  he's  gone. 
Maggie.     It'll  be  before  he's  gone. 
[Maggie  crosses  to  right  with  them.] 

Vickey.     But  we  don't  want 

Maggie.     Is  this  your  house  or  mine? 
Vickey.     It's  your  cellar. 
Maggie.     And  I'm  in  charge  of  it. 

[The  four  go  into  bedroom  right.    Will  is  going 
to  stairs.] 
You  sit  you   still,  and  don't  forget  you're  gaffer 
here.     I'll  open  door. 

[Maggie  goes  upstairs  and  opens  door.     Enters 
HoBSON  to  top  stair.] 
[73  1 


Act  II  HOBSON'S  CHOICE 

HoBSON  [with  some  slight  apology].     Well,  Maggie. 

IVIaggie  [uninvitingly].     Well,  father. 

HoBSON  [without  confidence].     I'll  come  in. 

Maggie  [standing  in  his  way].  Well,  I  don't 
know.     I'll  have  to  ask  the  master  about  that. 

HoBSON.     Eh?     The  master? 

Maggie.  You  and  him  didn't  part  on  the  best 
of  terms,  you  know.  [Over  her  shoulder.]  Will,  it's 
my  father,  is  he  to  come  in? 

Willie.     Aye,  let  him  come. 

[HoBSON   comes   downstairs.     Maggie    closes 
door  behind  him  and  follows.] 

HoBSON.  You  don't  sound  cordial  about  your 
invitation,  young  man. 

Willie.  Nay,  but  I  am.  [Shaking  hands  for  a 
long  time.]  I'm  right  down  glad  to  see  you,  Mr. 
Hobson.  It  makes  the  wedding  day  complete-like, 
you  being  her  father  and  I — I  hope  you'll  see  your 
way  to  staying  a  good  long  while. 

Hobson.     Well 

Maggie.  That's  enough.  Will.  You  don't  need 
to  overdo  it,  and  you  can  sit  down  for  five  minutes, 
father.  That  sofa  'uU  bear  your  weight.  It's  been 
tested. 

Willie  [taking  up  tea-pot].     There's  nobbut  tea 
[74] 


HOBSON'S  CHOICE  Ad  II 

to  drink  and  I  reckon  what's  in  the  pot  is  stewed,  so 
I'll 

Maggie  [taking  pot  off  him  as  he  moves  to  fireplace 
with  it].  You'll  aot  do  owL  of  sort.  Father  hkes  his 
liquids  strong. 

Willie  [at  table  again].  A  piece  of  pork  pie  now, 
Mr.  Hobson? 

HoBSON  [groaning].     Pork  piei 

Maggie  [sharply].  You'll  be  sociable  now  you're 
here,  I  hope.     [She  pours  tea.] 

Hobson.  It  wasn't  sociability  that  brought  me, 
Maggie. 

Maggie.     What  was  it,  then? 

Hobson.  Maggie,  I'm  in  disgrace.  A  sore  and 
sad  misfortune's  fallen  on  me. 

Maggie  [cutting].  Happen  a  piece  of  wedding 
cake  'uU  do  you  good.  ^ 

Hobson  [shuddering].     It's  sweet. 

Maggie.     That's  natural  in  cake. 
[Maggie  sits.] 

Hobson.     I've  gotten  such  a  head. 

Maggie.     Aye.     But  wedding  cake's  a  question 

of  heart.     There'd  be  no  bride  cakes  made  at  all  if 

we  thought  first  about  our  heads.     I'm  quite  aware 

it's  foolishness,  but  I've  a  wish  to  see  my  father  sitting 

[75  1 


Act  II  HOBSON'S  CHOICE 

at  my  table  eating  my  wedding  cake  on  my  wedding 
day. 

HoBsoN.  It's  a  very  serious  thing  I  came  about, 
Maggie. 

Maggie.  It's  not  more  serious  than  knowing 
that  you  wish  us  well. 

HoBsoN.  Well,  Maggie,  you  know  my  way. 
When  a  thing's  done,  it's  done.  You've  had  your 
way  and  done  what  you  wanted.  I'm  none  proud 
of  the  choice  you  made  and  I'll  not  lie  and  say  I  am, 
but  I've  shaken  your  husband's  hand,  and  that's  a 
sign  for  you.     The  milk's  spilt  and  I'll  not  cry. 

Maggie  [holding  plate].  Then  there's  your  cake, 
and  you  can  eat  it. 

HoBSON.  I've  given  you  my  word  there's  no 
ill  feeling. 

Maggie.     So  now  we'll  have  the  deed. 

HoBSON.  You're  a  hard  woman.  [He  eats.] 
You've  no  consideration  for  the  weakness  of  old 
age. 

Maggie.     Finished? 

HoBSON.     Pass  me  that  tea. 
[She  passes:  he  drinks.] 
That's  easier. 

Maggie.     Now  tell  me  what  it  is  you  came  about? 
[76] 


HOBSON'S  CHOICE  Act  II 

HoBsoN.     I'm  in  sore  trouble,  Maggie. 

Maggie  [rising].  Then  I'll  leave  you  with  my 
husband  to  talk  it  over. 

HoBSON.     Eh? 

Maggie.  You'll  not  be  wanting  me.  Women 
are  only  in  your  way. 

HoBsoN  [rising].  Maggie,  you're  not  going  to 
desert  me  in  the  hour  of  my  need,  are  you? 

Maggie.  Surely  to  goodness  you  don't  want  a 
woman  to  help  you  after  all  you've  said!  Will  'uU 
do  his  best,  I  make  no  doubt.  [She  goes  right.]  Give 
me  a  call  when  you've  finished,  Will. 

HoBSON  [following  her].     Maggie!     It's  private. 

Maggie.  Why,  yes.  I'm  going  and  you  can  dis- 
cuss it  man  to  man  with  no  fools  of  women  about. 

HoBSON.  I  tell  you  I've  come  to  see  you,  not 
him.     It's  private  from  him. 

Maggie.  Private  from  Will?  Nay,  it  isn't. 
Will's  in  the  family,  and  you've  nowt  to  say  to  me 
that  can't  be  said  to  him, 

HoBSON.     I've  to  tell  you  this  with  him  there? 

Maggie.     Will  and  me's  one. 

Willie.     Sit  down,  Mr.  Hobson. 
[HoBsoN  sits  on  sofa.] 

Maggie.     You  call  him  father  now. 
[77] 


Act  II  HOBSON'S  CHOICE 

Willie.     Do  I? 

HoBsoN.     Does  he? 

Maggie.     He  does.     Sit  down.  Will. 

[Will  sits  right  of  table.     Maggie  stands.] 
Now,  if  you're  ready,  father,  we  are.     What's  the 
matter? 

HoBsoN.  That — [producing  the  blue  paper] — 
that's  the  matter. 

[Maggie  accepts  and  passes  it  to  Will  and  goes 
behind  his  chair.     He  is  reading  upside  down. 
She  bends  over  chair  and  turns  it  right  way 
up.] 
Maggie.     What  is  it,  Will? 

HoBsoN  [banging  table].  Ruin,  Maggie,  that's 
what  it  is!  Ruin  and  bankruptcy.  Am  I  Vicar's 
Warden  at  St.  Philip s's  or  am  I  not?  Am  I  Hobson 
of  Hobson's  Boot  Shop  on  Chapel  Street,  Salford? 
Am  I  a  respectable  ratepayer  and  the  father  of  a 

family  or 

Maggie  [who  has  been  reading  over  Weill's  shoidder]. 
It's  an  action  for  damages  for  trespass,  I  see. 

HoBsoN.     It's  a  stab  in  the  back,  it's  an  unfair, 
un-English,  cowardly  way  of  taking  a  mean  advan- 
tage of  a  casual  accident. 
Maggie.     Did  you  trespass? 
[78] 


HOBSON'S  CHOICE  Act  II 

HoBSON.  Maggie,  I  say  it  solemnly,  it  is  all  your 
fault.  I  had  an  accident.  I  don't  deny  it.  I'd 
been  in  the  "Moonraker's"  and  I'd  stayed  too  long. 
And  why.^  Why  did  I  stay  too  long?  To  try  to 
forget  that  I'd  a  thankless  cliild,  to  erase  from  the 
tablets  of  memory  the  recollection  of  your  conduct. 
That  was  the  cause  of  it.  And  the  result,  the  blast- 
ing, wiihf  ring  result?  I  fell  into  that  cellar.  I  slept 
in  that  cellar  and  I  awoke  to  this  catastrophe. 
Lawyers  .  .  .  law-costs  .  .  .  publicity 
.     .     .     ruin. 

Maggie.  I'm  still  asking  you.  Was  it  an  acci- 
dent?    Or  did  you  trespass? 

HoBSON.  It's  an  accident.  As  plain  as  Salford 
Town  Hall  it's  an  accident,  but  they  that  live  by  law 
have  twisted  ways  of  putting  things  that  make  white 
show  as  black.  I'm  in  their  grip  at  last.  I've  kept 
away  from  lawyers  all  my  life,  I've  hated  lawyers* 
and  they've  got  their  chance  to  make  me  bleed  for 
it.  I've  dodged  them,  and  they've  caught  me  in  the 
end.     They'll  squeeze  me  dry  for  it. 

Willie.  My  word,  and  that's  summat  like  a 
squeeze  and  all. 

Maggie.     I   can   see    it's    serious.     I    shouldn't 
wonder  if  you  didn't  lose  some  trade  from  this. 
[79  1 


Act  II  HOBSON'S  CHOICE 

HoBSON.  Wonder!  It's  as  certain  as  Christmas. 
My  good -class  customers  are  not  going  to  buy  their 
boots  from  a  man  who's  stood  up  in  open  court  and 
had  to  acknowledge  he  was  overcome  at  12  o'clock  in 
the  morning.  They'll  not  remember  it  was  private 
grief  that  caused  it  all.  They'll  only  think  the 
worse  of  me  because  I  couldn't  control  my  daughter 
better  than  to  let  her  go  and  be  the  cause  of  sorrow 
to  me  in  my  age.  That's  what  you've  done.  Brought 
this  on  me,  you  two,  between  you. 

Willie.  Do  you  think  it  will  get  into  the  paper, 
Maggie.^ 

Maggie.  Yes,  for  sure.  You'll  see  your  name 
in  the  Salford  Reporter,  father. 

HoBsoN.  Salford  Reporter  1  Yes,  and  more. 
When  there  is  ruin  and  disaster,  and  outrageous  for- 
tune overwhelms  a  man  of  my  importance  to  the 
world,  it  isn't  only  the  Salford  Reporter  that  takes 
note  of  it.  This  awful  cross  that's  come  to  me  will  be 
recorded  in  the  Manchester  Courier  for  the  whole  of 
Lancashire  to  read. 

Willie.     Eh,  by  gum,  think  of  that!    To  have 
your  name  appearing  in  the  Courier  I    Why,  it's 
very  near  w^orth  while  to  be  ruined  for  the  pleasure 
of  reading  about  yourself  in  a  printed  paper. 
[80] 


HOBSON'S  CHOICE  Act  II 

HoBSON.  It's  there  for  others  to  read  besides  me, 
my  lad. 

Willie.  Aye,  you're  right.  I  didn't  think  of 
that.  This  'ull  give  a  lot  of  satisfaction  to  a  many 
I  could  name.  Other  people's  troubles  is  mostly 
what  folks  read  the  paper  for,  and  I  reckon  it's  twice 
the  pleasure  to  them  when  it's  trouble  of  a  man  they 
know  themselves.  [He  is  perfectly  simple  and  has  no 
malicious  intention.] 

HoBSON.  To  hear  you  talk  it  sounds  like  a  pleas- 
ure to  you. 

Willie  [sincerely].  Nay,  indeed  it's  not.  You've 
ate  my  wedding  cake  and  you've  shook  my  hand. 
We're  friends,  I  hope,  and  I  were  nobbut  meditating 
like  a  friend.  I  always  think  it's  best  to  look  on  the 
worst  side  of  things  first,  then  whatever  chances 
can't  be  worse  than  you  looked  for.  There's  St. 
Philips's  now.  I  don't  suppose  you'll  go  on  being 
Vicar's  warden  after  this  to  do,  and  it  brought  you  a 
powerful  lot  of  customers  from  the  church,  did  that. 

HoBsoN.  I'm  getting  a  lot  of  comfort  from  your 
husband,  Maggie. 

Maggie.     It's  about  what  you  deserve. 

HoBsoN.  Have  you  got  any  more  consolation 
for  me.  Will? 

[81] 


Act  II  HOBSON'S  CHOICE 

Willie  [aggrieved].  I  only  spoke  what  came  into 
my  mind. 

HoBsoN.     Well,  have  you  spoken  it  all? 

Willie.  I  can  keep  my  mouth  shut  if  you'd 
rather. 

HoBsoN.  Don't  strain  yourself,  Will  Mossop. 
When  a  man's  mind  is  full  of  thoughts  like  yours, 
they're  better  out  than  in.  You  let  them  come,  my 
lad.     They'll  leave  a  cleaner  place  behind. 

Willie.  I'm  not  much  good  at  talking,  and  I 
always  seem  to  say  wrong  things  when  I  do  talk. 
I'm  sorry  if  my  well-meant  words  don't  suit  your 
taste,  but  I  thought  you  came  here  for  advice. 

HoBSON.  I  didn't  come  to  you,  you  jumped-up 
eock-a-hooping — — 

Maggie.  That  'ull  do,  father.  My  husband's 
trying  to  help  you. 

HoBSON  [glares  impatiently  for  a  time,  then  meekly 
says].     Yes,  Maggie. 

Maggie.     Now,  about  this  accident  of  yours. 

HoBSON.     Yes,  Maggie. 

Maggie.  It's  the  publicity  that  you're  afraid  of 
most. 

HoBSON.  It's  being  dragged  into  a  court  of  law 
at  all,  me  that's  voted  right  all  through  my  life  and 
[82] 


HOBSON'S  CHOICE  Act  II 

been  a  sound  supporter  of  the  Queen  and  Constitu- 
tion. 

Maggie.  Then  we  must  try  to  keep  it  out  of 
court. 

HoBSON.  If  there  are  lawyers  in  Heaven,  IVIaggie, 
which  I  doubt,  thej^  may  keep  cases  out  of  courts 
there.  On  earth  a  lawyer's  job's  to  squeeze  a  man 
and  squeeze  him  where  his  squirming's  seen  the  most 
— in  court. 

Maggie.  I've  heard  of  cases  being  settled  out  of 
court,  in  private. 

HoBSON.  In  private?  Yes,  I  daresay,  and  all 
the  worse  for  that.  It's  done  amongst  themselves  in 
lawyers'  offices  behind  closed  doors  so  no  one  can  see 
they're  squeezing  twice  as  hard  in  private  as  they'd 
dare  to  do  in  public.  There's  some  restraint  de- 
manded by  a  public  place,  but  privately!  It'll 
cost  a  fortune  to  settle  this  in  private,  Maggie. 

Maggie.  I  make  no  doubt  it's  going  to  cost  you 
something,  but  you'd  rather  do  it  privately  than 
publicly.^ 

HoBSON.     If  only  it  were  not  a  lawyer's  office. 

Maggie.     You  can  settle  it  with  the  lawyer  out 
of  his  office.     You  can  settle  with  him  here. 
[She  goes  right  and  opens  door.] 
[83  1 


Act  II  HOBSON'S  CHOICE 

Albert! 

[Enter  Albert,  ivho  leaves  door  open.] 
This    is    Mr.    Prosser    of  Prosser,    Pilkington,  and 
Prosser. 
HoBsoN.    He  is ! 
Maggie.    Yes. 

HoBsoN  [incredulously].     You're  a  lawyer? 
Albert.     Yes,  I'm  a  lawyer. 
HoBsoN  [with  disgust  almost  too  deep  for  words]. 
At  your  age! 

Maggie     [at   door    right.]      Come    along,    all  of 
you. 

[There    is    reluctance    inside,    then    Vickey, 
Alice,  and  Fred  enter.] 
HoBsoN.     Alice !     Vickey ! 

Maggie.     Family  gathering.     This  is  Mr.  Been- 
stock,  of  Beenstock  &  Co. 
HoBsoN.     What !     Here ! 

[The   situation   is   plainly   beyond   his  mused 
brain  s  capacity.] 
Maggie.     When  you've  got  a  thing  to  settle,  you 
need  all  the  parties  to  be  present. 

HoBSON.     But  there  are  so  many  of  them.     Where 
have  they  all  come  from? 
IVIaggie.     My  bedroom. 
[84] 


HOBSON'S  CHOICE  Act  II 

HoBSON.  You're Maggie,  I  wish  you'd  ex- 
plain before  my  brain  gives  way. 

Maggie.  It's  quite  simple.  I  got  them  here  be- 
cause I  expected  you. 

HoBSON.     You  expected  me! 

Maggie.  You're  in  trouble,  and  I  knew  you'd 
bring  your  troubles  to  me. 

HoBSON  [shaking  his  heady  then  as  if  finding  an  out- 
let, pouncing  on  Alice].  What's  it  got  to  do  with 
Alice  and  Vickey.^  What  are  they  doing  here? 
What's  happening  to  the  shop? 

Alice.     Tubby  W^adlow's  looking  after  it. 

HoBSON.  And  is  it  Tubby's  job  to  look  after  the 
shop? 

VicKEY.  He'd  got  no  other  job.  The  shop's 
so  slack  since  Maggie  left. 

HoBSON  [swelling  ivith  rage].  And  do  you  run  that 
shop?  Do  you  give  orders  there?  Do  you  decide 
when  you  can  put  your  hats  on  and  walk  out  of  it? 

Maggie.  They  come  out  because  it's  my  wedding 
day,  father.  It's  reason  enough,  and  Will  and  me  'ull 
do  the  same  for  them.  We'll  close  the  shop  and  wel- 
come on  their  wedding  days. 

HoBsoN.  Their  wedding  day s !  That's  long  time 
off.  It'll  be  many  a  year  before  there's  another 
[85] 


Act  II  HOBSON'S  CHOICE 

wedding  in  this  family,  I  give  j^ou  my  word.  One 
daughter  defying  me  is  quite  enough. 

Albert.  Hadn't  we  better  get  to  business, 
sir? 

HoBSON.  Young  man,  don't  abuse  a  noble  word. 
You're  a  lawyer.  By  your  own  admission  you're  a 
lawyer.  Honest  men  live  by  business  and  lawyers 
live  by  law. 

Albert.  In  this  matter,  sir,  I  am  following  the 
instructions  of  my  client,  Mr.  Beenstock,  and  the 
remark  you  have  just  let  fall,  before  witnesses,  ap- 
pears to  me  to  bear  a  libellous  reflection  on  the  action 
of  my  client. 

Hobson.  WTiat!  So  it's  libel  now.  Isn't  tres- 
pass and  .  .  .  and  spying  on  trade  secrets 
enough  for  you,  you  blood-sucking 

Albert.  One  moment,  Mr.  Hobson.  You  can 
call  me  what  you  like 

Hobson.    And  I  shall.     You 


Albert.  But  I  wish  to  remind  you,  in  your  own 
interests,  that  abuse  of  a  lawyer  is  remembered  in 
the  costs.  Now,  my  client  tells  me  he  is  prepared  to 
settle  this  matter  out  of  court.  Personally,  I  don't 
advise  him  to,  because  we  should  probably  get  higher 
damages  in  court.  But  Mr.  Beenstock  has  no  de- 
[86] 


HOBSON'S  CHOICE  Act  II 

sire  to  be  vindictive.     He  remembers  your  position, 
your  reputation  for  respectability,  and 

HoBSON.     How  much? 

Albert.     Er — I  beg  your  pardon? 

HoBsoN.  I'm  not  so  fond  of  the  sound  of  your 
voice  as  you  are.     What's  the  figure? 

Albert.  The  sura  we  propose,  which  will  include 
my  ordinary  costs,  but  not  my  additional  costs  in- 
curred by  your  use  of  defamatory  language  to  me,  is 
one  thousand  pounds. 

HoBSON.     What! 

Maggie.     It  isn't. 

HoBsoN.  One  thousand  pounds  for  tumbling 
down  a  cellar !     Why,  I  might  have  broken  my  leg. 

Albert.  That  is  in  the  nature  of  an  admission, 
Mr.  Hobson.  Our  flour  bags  saved  your  legs  from 
fracture  and  I  am  therefore  inclined  to  add  to  the 
sum  I  have  stated  a  reasonable  estimate  of  the  doc- 
tor's bill  we  have  saved  you  by  protecting  your  legs 
with  our  bags. 

Maggie.  Albert  Prosser,  I  can  see  you're  going 
to  get  on  in  the  world,  but  you  needn't  be  greedy 
here.     That  one  thousand's  too  much. 

Albert.     We  thought 

Maggie.     Then  you  can  think  again. 
[87] 


Act  II  HOBSON'S  CHOICE 


Freddy.     But 

Maggie.  If  there  are  any  more  signs  of  greediness 
from  you  two,  there'll  be  a  counter-action  for  per- 
sonal damages  due  to  your  criminal  carelessness  in 
leaving  your  cellar  flap  open. 

HoBSON.  Maggie,  you've  saved  me.  I'll  bring 
that  action.     I'll  show  them  up. 

Maggie.  You're  not  damaged,  and  one  lawyer's 
quite  enough.  Bui*  he'll  be  more  reasonable  now. 
I  know  perfectly  well  what  father  can  afford  to  pay, 
and  it's  not  a  thousand  poufids  nor  anything  like  a 
thousand  pounds. 

HoBSON.  Not  so  much  of  your  can't  afford,  Mag- 
gie.    You'll  make  me  out  a  pauper. 

Maggie.  You  can  afford  £500  and  you're  going 
to  pay  £500. 

HoBSON.  Oh,  but  .  .  .  there's  a  difference 
between  affording  and  paying. 

Maggie.  You  can  go  to  the  courts  and  be  re- 
ported in  the  papers  if  you  like. 

HoBSON.  It's  the  principle  I  care  about.  I'm 
being  beaten  by  a  lawyer. 

ViCKEY.  Father,  dear,  how  can  you  be  beaten 
when  they  wanted  a  thousand  pounds  and  you're 
only  going  to  give  £500? 

[88] 


HOBSON'S  CHOICE  Act  II 

HoBSON.     I  hadn't  thought  of  that. 

ViCKEY.     It's  they  who  are  beaten. 

HoBSON.  I'd  take  a  good  few  beatings  myself  at  the 
price.  Vickey.     Still,  I  want  this  keeping  out  of  court. 

Albert.     Then  we  can  take  it  as  settled? 

HoBSON.  Do  you  want  to  see  the  money  before 
you  believe  me?      Is  that  your  nasty  lawyer's  way? 

Albert.  Not  at  all,  Mr.  Hobson.  Your  word  is 
as  good  as  your  bond. 

Vickey.  It's  settled!  Il'.>  >:ci'Jcd!  Hurrah! 
Hurrah ! 

Hobson.  Well,  I  don't  see  what  you  have  to  cheer 
about,  Vickey.  I'm  not  to  be  dragged  to  public 
scorn,  but  you  know  this  is  a  tidy  bit  of  money  to  be 
going  out  of  the  family. 

Maggie.     It's  not  going  out  of  the  family,  father. 

Hobson.     I  don't  see  how  you  make  it  out. 

Maggie.  Their  wedding  day  is  not  so  far  off  as 
you  thought,  now  there's  the  half  of  five  hundred 
pounds  apiece  for  them  to  make  a  start  on. 

[Albert  and  Alice,  Fred  and  Vickey  stand 
arm  in  arm.] 

Hobson.     You  mean  to  tell  me 

Maggie.  You  won't  forget  you've  passed  your 
word,  will  you,  father? 

[89] 


Act  II  HOBSON'S  CHOICE 


HoBSON.     I've  been  diddled.    It's  a  plant.    It- 


Maggie.  It  takes  two  daughters  off  your  hands 
at  once,  and  clears  your  shop  of  all  the  fools  of  wo- 
men that  used  to  lumber  up  the  place. 

Alice.  It  will  be  much  easier  for  you  without  us 
in  your  way,  father. 

HoBSON.  Aye,  and  you  can  keep  out  of  my  way 
and  all.  Do  you  hear  that,  all  of  you.?  I'll  run  that 
shop  with  men  and — and  I'll  show  Salford  how  it 
should  be  run.  Don't  you  imagine  there'll  be  room 
for  you  when  you  come  home  crying  and  tired  of 
your  fine  husbands.  I'm  rid  of  ye,  and  it's  a  lasting 
riddance,  mind.  I'll  pay  this  money,  that  you've 
robbed  me  of,  and  that's  the  end  of  it.  All  of  you. 
You,  especially,  Maggie.  I'm  not  blind  yet,  and  I 
can  see  who  'tis  I've  got  to  thank  for  this.  [He  goes 
to  foot  of  stairs.] 

IVIaggie.     Don't  be  vicious,  father. 

HoBsoN.  Will  Mossop,  I'm  sorry  for  you.  Take 
you  for  all  in  all,  you're  the  best  of  the  bunch.  You're 
a  backward  lad,  but  you  know  your  trade  and  it's  an 
honest  one. 

[HoBSON  is  going  up  the  stairs.] 

Alice.     So  does  my  Albert  know  his  trade. 

HoBSON      [halfway     upstairs].      I'll    grant     you 
[90  1 


HOBSON'S  CHOICE  Act  II 

that.  He  knows  his  trade.  He's  good  at  rob- 
bery. And  I've  to  have  it  on  my  conscience  that 
my  daughters  wed  a  lawyer  and  an  employer  of 
lawyers. 

ViCKEY.  It  didn't  worry  your  conscience  to  keep 
us  serving  in  the  shop  at  no  wages. 

HoBSON.  I  kept  you,  didn't  I?  It's  some  one 
else's  job  to  victual  you  in  future.  Aye,  you  may 
grin,  you  two,  but  girls  don't  live  on  air.  You're 
penny  buns  'ull  cost  you  tuppence  now — and  more. 
Wait  till  the  families  begin  to  come.  Don't  come 
to  me  for  keep,  that's  all. 

Alice.     Father! 

HoBSON.  Aye.  You  may  father  me.  But  that's 
a  piece  of  work  I've  finished  with.  I've  done  with 
fathering,  and  they're  beginning  it.  They'll  know 
what  marrying  a  woman  means  before  so  long. 
They're  putting  chains  upon  themselves  and  I  have 
thrown  the  shackles  off.  I've  suffered  thirty  years 
and  more  and  I'm  a  free  man  from  to-day.  Lord, 
what  a  thing  you're  taking  on!  You  poor,  poor 
wretches.  'You're  red-nosed  robbers,  but  you're 
going  to  pay  for  it. 

[He  opens  door  and  exit. 

Maggie.     You'd  better   arrange  to  get  married 
[911 


Act  II  HOBSON'S  CHOICE 

quick.     Alice  and  Vickey  won't  have  a  sweet  time 
with  him. 

Freddy.     Can  they  go  home  at  all? 

Maggie.     Why  not? 

Freddy.     After  what  he  said.? 

Maggie.  He'll  not  remember  half  of  it.  He's 
for  the  "Moonraker's"  now — if  there's  time.  What 
is  the  time? 

Albert.  Time  we  were  going.  Maggie,  you'll 
be  glad  to  see  the  back  of  us.  [He  shows  Maggie 
his  watch.] 

Willie.  No.  No.  I  wouldn't  dream  of  asking 
you  to  go. 

Maggie.  Then  I  would.  It's  high  time  we 
turned  you  out.     There  are  your  hats. 

[She  gets  Albert's  and  Fred's  hats.] 
Good-night. 

[Albert    and    Fred    go    upstairs^    ]\Iaggie 
'practically  pushing  them.] 
Good-night,  Vickey. 

Vickey  [with  a  quick  hiss].     Good-night,  Maggie. 
[Vickey  goes  upstairs.     She  and  Fred  go  out.] 

Maggie.     Good-night,  Alice. 

Alice.  Good-night,  Maggie.  [The  same  quick 
kiss.]     And  thank  you. 

[92  1 


HOBSON'S  CHOICE  Act  II 

Maggie.  Oh,  that!  [She  goes  with  her  to  stairs.] 
I'll  see  you  again  soon,  only  don't  come  round  here 
too  much  because  Will  and  me's  going  to  be  busy  and 
you'll  maybe  find  enough  to  do  yourselves  with  get- 
ting wed. 

Alice.     I  daresay.     [Upstairs.] 

Maggie.     Send  us  word  when  the  day  is. 

Albert.     We'll  be  glad  to  see  you  at  the  wedding. 

Maggie.  We'll  come  to  that.  You'll  be  too 
grand  for  us  afterwards. 

Albert.     Oh,  no,  Maggie. 

Maggie.  Well,  happen  we'll  be  catching  up  with 
you  before  so  long.  We're  only  starting  here. 
Good-night. 

Albert-Alice.     Good-night,  Maggie. 

[They  go  out,  closing  door.     Maggie  turns  to 
Will.] 

Maggie.  Now  you've  heard  what  I've  said  of 
you  to-night.  In  twenty  years  you're  going  to  be 
thought  more  of  than  either  of  your  brothers- 
in-law. 

Willie.     I  heard  you  say  it,  Maggie. 

Maggie.  And  we're  to  make  it  good.  I'm  not  a 
boaster.  Will.  And  it's  to  be  in  less  than  twenty 
years,  and  all. 

[93] 


Act  II  HOBSON'S  CHOICE 

Willie.  Well,  I  dunno.  They've  a  long  start 
on  us. 

Maggie.  And  you've  got  me.  Your  slate's  in 
the  bedroom.  Bring  it  out.  I'll  have  this  table 
clear  by  the  time  you  come  back. 

[She  hustles  off  the  last  remains  of  the  meal, 
putting  the  flowers  on  the  mantel  and  takes 
off  cloth.  Will  goes  to  bedroom  and  returns 
with  a  slate  and  slate  pencil.  The  slate  is 
covered  with  writing.  He  puts  it  on  table.] 
Maggie.  Off  with  your  Sunday  coat  now.  You 
don't  want  to  make  a  mess  of  that. 

[He  takes  coat  off  and  gets  rag  from  behind 
screen  and  brings  it  to  table.] 
What  are  you  doing  with  that  mopping  rag? 

Willie.  I  was  going  to  wash  out  what's  on 
the  slate. 

Maggie.     Let  me  see  it  first.     That's  what  you 
did  last  night  at  Tubby 's  after  I  came  here? 
Willie.     Yes,  Maggie. 

Maggie  [reading].  "There  is  always  room  at  the 
top."  [Washing  it  out.]  Your  writing's  improving, 
Will.  [She  sits  and  u)rites.]  I'll  set  you  a  short  copy 
for  to-night,  because  it's  getting  late  and  we've  a  lot 
to  do  in  the  morning.  "Great  things  grow  from 
[94] 


HOBSON'S  CHOICE  Act  II 

small."     Now,  then,  you  can  sit  down  here  and  copy- 
that. 

[He   takes   her   place   at   the   table.     Maggie 

watches  a  moment^  then  goes  to  fireplace  and 

fingers  the  flowers.] 

I'll  put  these  flowers  of  Mrs.  Hepworth's  behind  the 

fire,  Will.     We'll  not  want  litter  in  the  place  come 

working  time  to-morrow. 

[She  takes  up  basin,  stops,  looks  at  Will  who  is 
bent  over  his  slate,  and  takes  a  flower  out, 
throwing  the  rest  behind  the  flre  and  going  to 
bedroom  with  the  one.] 
Willie  [looking  up].     You're  saving  one. 
Maggie  [caught  in  an  act  of  sentiment  and  apolo- 
getically].    I  thought  I'd  press  it  in  my  Bible  for  a 
keepsake.  Will.     I'm  not  beyond  liking  to  be  re- 
minded of  this  day. 

[She  looks  at  screen  and  yawns.] 
Lord,  I'm  tired.     I  reckon  I'll  leave  those  pots  till 
morning.     It's  a  slackish  way  of  starting,  but  I  don't 
get  married  every  day. 

Willie  [industrious  at  his  slate].     No. 
Maggie.     I'm  for  my  bed.     You  finish  that  copy 
before  you  come. 
Willie.     Yes,  Maggie. 

[95  1 


Act  II  HOBSON'S  CHOICE 

[Exit  Maggie  to  bedroom,  with  the  flower. 
She  closes  door.  Will  copies,  finishes,  then 
rises  and  rakes  out  fire.  He  looks  shyly  at 
bedroom  door,  sits  and  takes  his  boots  off. 
He  rises,  boots  in  hand,  moves  toivards  door, 
hesitates,  and  turns  back,  puts  boots  doicn,  and 
takes  off  his  collar.  Then  hesitates  again, 
finally  makes  up  his  mind,  puts  out  light,  and 
lies  down  on  sofa.  In  a  minute  Maggie 
opens  the  bedroom  door.  She  has  a  candle 
and  is  in  a  plain  calico  night-dress.  She 
comes  to  Will,  shines  the  light  on  him, 
takes  him  by  the  ear,  and  returns  with  him  to 
bedroom.] 

Curtain 


ACT  III 


ACT  III 

The  scene  represents  Hobson's  living-room,  the  door 
to  which  was  seen  in  Act  I.  From  inside  the  room 
that  door  is  now  seen  to  be  at  the  lefty  the  opposite 
wall  having  the  fireplace  and  the  back  wall  another 
door  to  the  house. 

It  is  eight  o'clock  on  a  morning  a  year  later. 

In  front  of  the  fireplace  is  a  horse-hair  sofa .  Chairs 
to  match  are  at  the  table.  There  are  colored  prints 
of  Queen  Victoria  and  the  Prince  Consort  on  the  walls 
on  each  side  of  the  door  at  the  back,  and  a  plain  one  of 
Lord  Beaconsfield  aver  the  fireplace.  Antimacassars 
abound,  and  the  decoration  is  quaintly  ugly.  It  is 
an  overcrowded,  cozy  room.  Hobson  is  quite  con- 
tented with  it,  and  doesnt  realize  that  it  is  at  present 
very  dirty. 

There  is  probably  a  kitchen  elsewhere,  but  Tubby 
Wadlow  is  cooking  bacon  at  the  fire.  He  is  si- 
multaneously laying  breakfast  for  one  on  the  table. 
At  both  proceedings  he  is  a  puzzled  and  incompetent 
[99] 


Act  III  HOBSON'S  CHOICE 

amateur.     Presently  the  left  door  openSy    and   Jim 
Heeler  appears. 

Jim  [crossing  to  centre  door].  I'll  go  straight  up  to 
him,  Tubby. 

Tubby  [checking  him].  He's  getting  up,  Mr. 
Heeler. 

Jim.     Getting  up!     Why,  you  said 

Tubby.  I  told  you  what  he  told  me  to  tell  you. 
Run  for  Doctor  MacFarlane,  he  said.  And  I  ran  for 
Doctor  Macfarlane.  Now  go  to  Mr.  Heeler,  he  said, 
and  tell  him  I'm  very  ill,  and  I  came  and  told  you. 
Then  he  said  he  would  get  up,  and  I  was  to  have  his 
breakfast  ready  for  him,  and  he'd  see  you  down  here. 

Jim.  Nonsense,  Tubby.  Of  course,  I'll  go  up  to 
him. 

Tubby.  You  know  what  he  is,  sir.  I'll  get  blamed 
if  you  go,  and  he's  short-tempered  this  morning. 

Jim.  I  don't  want  to  get  you  into  trouble,  Tubby. 
[He  sits.] 

Tubby.     Thank  you,  Mr.  Heeler. 

Jim.     I  quite  thought  it  was  something  serious. 

Tubby.     If  you  ask  me,  it  is. 

Jim.     Which  way? 

Tubby.  Every  way  you  look  at  it.  IVIr.  Hobson's 
f  100  1 


HOBGON'3  CHOICE  Act  III 


not  his  own  old  self,  and  the  shop's  not  its  own  old 
self,  and  look  at  me.  Now  I  ask  you,  Mr.  Heeler, 
man  to  man,  is  this  wprk  for  a  foreman  shoe  hand.^^ 
Cooking  and  laying  tables  and 

Jim.  By  all  accounts  there's  not  much  else  for 
you  to  do. 

Tubby.  There's  better  things  than  being  a  house- 
maid, if  it's  only  making  clogs. 

Jim.     They  tell  me  clogs  are  a  cut  line. 

Tubby.  Well,  what  are  you  to  do?  There's 
nothing  else  wanted.  Hobson's  in  a  bad  way,  and 
I'm  telling  no  secret  when  I  say  it.  It's  a  fact  that's 
known. 

Jim.  It's  a  thousand  pities  with  an  old-established 
trade  like  this. 

Tubby.     And  who's  to  blame? 

Jim.  I  don't  think  you  ought  to  discuss  that  with 
me,  Tubby. 

Tubby.  Don't  you?  I'm  an  old  servant  of  the 
master's,  and  I'm  sticking  to  him  now  when  every- 
body's calhng  me  a  doting  fool  because  I  don't  look 
after  Tubby  Wadlow  first,  and  if  that  don't  give  me 
the  right  to  say  what  I  please,  I  don't  know.  It's 
temper's  ruining  this  shop,  Mr.  Heeler.  Temper  and 
obstinacy. 

[1011 


Act  JU  HOBSON'S  CHOICE 

Jim.  They  say  in  Chapel  Street  it's  WilHe 
Mossop. 

Tubby.  Wilhe's  a  good  lad,  though  I  say  it  that 
trained  him.  He  hit  us  hard,  did  Willie,  but  we'd 
have  got  round  that  in  time.  With  care,  you  under- 
stand, and  tact.  Tact.  That's  what  the  gaffer 
lacks.  Miss  Maggie,  ndw  .  .  .  well,  she's  a 
'marvel,  aye,  a  fair  knock  out.  Not  slavish,  mind 
you.  St()od  up  to  the  customers  all  the  time,  but 
she'd  a  way  with  her  that  sold  the  goods  and  made 
them  come  again  for  more.  Look  at  us  now.  Men 
assistants  in  the  shop. 

Jim.     Cost  more  than  women. 

Tubby.  Cost?  They'd  be  dear  at  any  price. 
Look  here,  Mr.  Heeler,  take  yourself.  When  you 
go  to  buy  a  pair  of  boots  do  you  like  to  be  tried  on 
by  a  man  or  a  nice  soft  young  woman  .^ 

Jim.     Well 

Tubby.  There  you  are.  Stands  to  reason.  It's 
human  nature. 

Jim.  But  there  are  two  sides  to  that.  Tubby. 
Look  at  the  other. 

Tubby.     Ladies.^ 

Jim.    Yes. 

Tubby.  Ladies  that  are  ladies  wants  trying  on 
[  10!^] 


HOBSON'S  CHOICE  Act  III 


by  their  own  sex,  and  them  that  aren't  buys  clogs. 
It's  the  good-class  trade  that  pays,  and  Hobson's 
have  lost  it. 

[Enter  Hobson  centre,  unshaven,  without  collar.] 

Jim  [with  cheerful  sympathy].     Well,  Henry! 

Hobson  [with  acute  melancholy  and  self-pity]. 
Oh,  Jim!     Oh,  Jim!     Oh,  Jim! 

Tubby.  Will  you  sit  on  the  soff.  hy  the  fire  or  at 
the  table? 

Hobson.  The  table?  Breakfast?  Bacon?  Ba- 
con, and  I'm  like  this. 

[Jim  assists  him  across  to  sofa.] 

Jim.  When  a  man's  like  this  he  wants  a  woman 
about  the  house,  Hemy. 

Hobson  [sitting].     I'll  want  then. 

Tubby.  Shall  I  go  for  Miss  Maggie,  sir.  Mrs. 
Mossop,  I  mean? 

Jim.  I  think  your  daughters  should  be 
here. 

Hobson.  They  should.  Only  they're  not.  They're 
married,  and  I'm  deserted  by  them  all  and  I'll  die 
deserted,  then  perhaps  they'll  be  sorry  for  the  way 
they've  treated  me.  Tubby,  have  you  got  no  work 
to  do  in  the  shop? 

Tubby.     I  might  find  some  if  I  looked  hard. 
[  103] 


Act  III  HOBSON'S  CHOICE 

HoBSON.  Then  go  and  look.  And  take  that 
bacon  with  you.     I  don't  like  the  smell. 

Tubby  [getting  bacon].  Are  you  sure  you  wouldn't 
like  Miss  Maggie  here.^     I'll  go  for  her  and 

HoBSON.  Oh,  go  for  her.  Go  for  the  devil.  What 
does  it  matter  who  you  go  for?     I'm  a  dying  man. 

[Tubby  takes  bacon  and  goes  out  left. 

Jim.     What's  all  this  talk  about  dying,  Henry? 

Hobson.  Oh,  Jim!  Oh,  Jim!  I've  sent  for  the 
doctor.     We'll  know  soon  how  near  the  end  is. 

Jim.  Well,  this  is  very  sudden.  You've  never 
been  ill  in  your  life. 

Hobson.  It's  been  saved  up,  and  all  come  now  at 
once. 

Jim.     What  are  your  symptoms,  Henry? 

Hobson.  I'm  all  one  symptom,  head  to  foot. 
I'm  frightened  of  myself,  Jim.  That's  worst.  You 
would  call  me  a  clean  man,  Jim? 

Jim.  Clean?  Of  course  I  would.  Clean  in  body 
and  mind. 

Hobson.  I'm  dirty  now.  I  haven't  washed  this 
morning.  Couldn't  face  the  water.  The  only  use  I 
saw  for  water  was  to  drown  myself.  The  same  with 
shaving.  I've  thrown  my  razor  through  the  win- 
dow. Had  to  or  I'd  have  cut  my  throat, 
f  104  1 


HOBSON'S  CHOICE  Act  III 

Jim.     Oh,  come,  come. 

HoBSON.  It's  awful.  I'll  never  trust  myself 
again.     I'm  going  to  grow  a  beard — if  I  live. 

Jim.  You'll  cheat  the  undertaker,  Henry,  but  I 
fancy  a  doctor  could  improve  you.  What  do  you 
reckon  is  the  cause  of  it  now? 

HoBsoN.     ^*Moonraker's." 

Jim.     You  don't  think 

HoBSON.  I  don't  think.  I  know.  I've  seen  it 
happen  to  others,  but  I  never  thought  that  it 
would  come  to  me. 

Jim.  Nor  me,  neither.  You're  not  a  toper, 
Henry.  I  grant  you're  regular,  but  you  don't  ex- 
ceed. It's  a  hard  thing  if  a  man  can't  take  a  drop  of 
ale  without  its  getting  back  at  him  like  this.  Why, 
it  might  be  my  turn  next. 

[Tubby  enters  left,  showing  in  Doctor  Mac- 
Farlane,  a  domineering  Scotchman  of  fifty.] 

Tubby.     Here's  Doctor  MacFarlane. 

[Exit  Tubby. 

Doctor.  Good  morning,  gentlemen.  Where's  my 
patient.?     [He  puts  hat  on  table.] 

Jim  [speaking  without  indicating  Hobson],  Here. 
[He  does  not  rise.] 

Doctor.    Here?    Up? 

[105] 


Act  III  HOBSON'S  CHOICE 

HoBsON.     Looks  like  it. 

Doctor.  And  for  a  patient  who's  downstairs,  I'm 
made  to  rise  from  my  bed  at  this  hour  .5^ 

Jim.     It's  not  so  early  as  all  that. 

Doctor.  But  I've  been  up  all  night,  sir.  Young 
woman  with  her  first.     iVre  you  Mr.  Hobson? 

Jim  [rising  qidcliy].     Certainly  not.     I'm  not  ill. 

Doctor.  Hum.  Not  much  to  choose  between 
you.  You've  both  got  your  fate  written  on  your 
faces. 

Jim.     Do  you  mean  that  I ? 

Doctor.     I  mean  he  has  and  you  will. 

Hobson.     Doctor,  will  you  attend  to  me.^ 

Doctor.  Yes.  Now,  sir.  [He  sits  by  him  and 
holds  his  wrist.] 

Hobson.  I've  never  been  in  a  bad  way  before 
this  morning.     Never  wanted  a  doctor  in  my  life. 

Doctor.    You've  needed.     But  you've  not  sent. 


Hobson. 

But  this  morning 

Doctor. 

I  ken — well. 

Hobson. 

^Yhat!     You  know! 

Doctor. 

Any  fool  would  ken. 

Hobson. 

Eh? 

Doctor. 

Any  fool  but  one  fool  and  that's'  your- 

self. 

106] 


HOBSON'S  CHOICE  Act  III 

HoBSON.     You're  damned  polite. 

Doctor.  If  ye  want  flattery,  I  daresay  ye  can 
get  it  from  your  friend.  I'm  giving  you  ma  medical 
opinion. 

HoBSON.  I  want  your  opinion  on  my  complaint, 
not  on  my  character. 

Doctor.  Your  complaint  and  your  character  are 
the  same. 

HoBSON.  Then  you'll  kindly  separate  them  and 
you'll  tell  me 

Doctor  [taking  up  hat].  I'll  tell  you  nothing,  sir. 
I  don't  diagnose  as  my  patients  wish,  but  as  my  in- 
tellect and  sagacity  direct.     Good  morning  to  you. 

Jim.     But  you  have  not  diagnosed. 

Doctor.  Sir,  if  I  am  to  interview  a  patient  in 
the  presence  of  a  third  party,  the  least  that  third 
party  can  do  is  to  keep  his  mouth  shut. 

Jim.  After  that,  there's  only  one  thing  for  it. 
He  shifts  or  I  do. 

HoBSON.     You'd  better  go,  Jim. 

Jim.     There  are  other  doctors,  Henry. 

HoBSON.  I'll  keep  this  one.  I've  got  to  teach 
him  a  lesson.  Scotchmen  can't  come  over  Salford 
lads  this  road. 

Jim.     If  that's  it,  I'll  leave  you. 
[  107  1 


Act  III  HOBSON'S  CHOICE 

HoBSON.  That's  it.  I  can  bully  as  well  as  a  for- 
eigner. 

[Jim   goes  out  left. 

Doctor.  That's  better,  Mr.  Hobson.  [He  puts 
hat  down.]  ^ 

Hobson.  If  I'm  better,  you've  not  had  much  to 
do  with  it. 

Doctor.     I  think  my  calculated  rudeness 

Hobson.  If  you  calculate  your  fees  at  the  same 
rate  as  your  rudeness,  they'll  be  high. 

Doctor.  I  calculate  by  time,  Mr.  Hobson,  so 
we'd  better  get  to  business.  Will  you  unbutton 
your  shirt? 

Hobson  [doing  it].     No  hanky  panky  now. 

Doctor  [ignoring  his  remark  and  examining].  Aye. 
It  just  confirms  ma  first  opinion.  Ye've  had  a 
breakdown  this  a.  m.? 

Hobson.     You  might  say  so. 

Doctor.     Melancholic?     Depressed? 

Hobson  [buttoning  shirt].  Question  was  whether 
the  razor  would  beat  me,  or  I'd  beat  razor.  I  won, 
that  time.  The  razor's  in  the  yard.  But  I'll  never 
dare  to  try  shaving  myself  again. 

Doctor.     And  do  you  seriously  require  me  to  tell 
you  the  cause,  Mr.  Hobson? 
[  108  ] 


HOBSON'S  CHOICE  Act  III 

HoBsoN.     I'm  paying  thee  brass  to  tell  me. 

Doctor.  Chronic  alcoholism,  if  you  know  what 
that  means. 

HoBSON.     Aye. 

Doctor.     A  serious  case. 

HoBsON.  I  know  it*s  serious.  What  do  you  think 
you're  here  for?  It  isn't  to  tell  me  something  I 
know  already.     It's  to  cure  me. 

Doctor.  Very  well.  I  will  write  you  a  prescrip- 
tion.    [Sits  at  table  and  writes  with  copying  pencil.] 

HoBsoN.     Stop  that! 

Doctor.  ^I  beg  your  pardon? 

HoBsoN.  I  won't  take  it.  None  of  your  drug- 
gist's muck  for  me.  I'm  particular  about  what  I  put 
into  my  stomach. 

Doctor.  Mr.  Hobson,  if  you  don't  mend  your 
manners,  I'll  certify  you  for  a  lunatic  asylum.  Are 
you  aware  that  you've  drunk  yourself  within  six 
months  of  the  grave?  You'd  a  warning  this  morn- 
ing that  any  sane  man  would  listen  to  and  you're 
going  to  listen  to  it,  sir. 

Hobson.     By  taking  your  prescription? 

Doctor.  Precisely.  You  will  take  this  mixture, 
Mr.  Hobson,  and  you  will  practise  total  abstinence 
for  the  future. 

[  109  ] 


•    /■ 

Act  III  HOBSON'S  CHOICE 

HoBSON.  You  ask  me  to  give  up  my  reasonable 
refreshment ! 

Doctor.     I  forbid  alcohol  absolutely. 

HoBsoN.  Much  use  your  forbidding  is.  I've  had 
my  liquor  for  as  long  as  I  remember,  and  I'll  have  it 
to  the  end.  If  I'm  to  be  beaten  by  beer  I'll  die  fight- 
ing, and  I'm  none  practising  imnatural  teetotalism 
for  the  sake  of  lengthening  out  my  unalcoholic  days. 
Life's  got  to  be  worth  living  before  I'll  live  it. 

Doctor  [taking  hat  again].  If  that's  the  way  you 
talk,  my  services  are  of  no  use  to  you. 

HoBsoN.  They're  not.  I'll  pay  you  on  the  nail 
for  this. 

[Sorting  money  from  pocket.] 

Doctor.  I  congratulate  you  on  the  impulse,  Mr. 
Hobson. 

HoBsoN.  Nay,  it's  a  fair  deal,  doctor.  I've  had 
value.  You've  been  a  tonic  to  me.  When  I  got  up 
I  never  thought  to  see  the  **Moonraker's"  again,  but 
I'm  ready  for  my  early  morning  draught  this  minute. 
[Holds  out  money.] 

Doctor  [putting  hat  down,  and  talking  earnestly]. 
Man,  will  ye  no  be  warned.'^  Ye  pig-headed  animal, 
alcohol  is  poison  to  ye,  deadly,  virulent  with  a  system 
in  the  state  yours  is. 

[110] 


HOBSON'S  CHOICE  Ad  III 

HoBSON.  You're  getting  warm  about  it.  Will 
you  take  your  fee?     [Holding  out  money.] 

Doctor.  Yes.  When  I've  earned  it.  Put  it 
in  your  pocket,  Mr.  Hobson.  I  hae  na  finished  with 
ye  yet. 

Hobson.     I  thought  you  had. 

Doctor.  Do  ye  ken  that  ye're  defying  me? 
Ye '11  die  fighting,  will  ye?  Aye,  it's  a  gay,  high- 
sounding  sentiment,  ma  mannie,  but  ye'll  no  dae  it, 
do  ye  hear?  Ye'll  no  slip  from  me  now.  I've  got 
ma  grip  on  ye.  Ye'll  die  sober,  and  ye'll  live  the 
longest  time  ye  can  before  ye  die.  Have  ye  a  wife, 
Mr.  Hobson? 

[Hobson  points  upwards.] 
In  bed? 

Hobson.     Higher  than  that. 

Doctor.  It's  a  pity.  A  man  like  you  should  keep 
a  wife  handy. 

Hobson.     I'm  not  so  partial  to  women. 

Doctor.  Women  are  a  necessity,  sir.  Have  ye 
no  female  relative  that  can  manage  ye? 

Hobson.     Manage? 

Doctor.     Keep  her  thumb  firm  on  ye? 

Hobson.  I've  got  three  daughters.  Doctor  Mac- 
farlane,  and  they  tried  to  keep  their  thumbs  on  me. 

[Ill] 


Act  III  HOBSON'S  CHOICE 

Doctor.     Well?     Where  are  they? 

HoBSON.     Married — and  queerly  married. 

Doctor.     You  drove  them  to  it. 

HoBSON.  They  all  grew  uppish.  Maggie  worst 
of  all.        ' 

Doctor.  Maggie?  Then  I'll  tell  ye  what  ye'll 
do,  Mr.  Hobson.  You  will  get  Maggie  back.  At 
any  price.  At  all  costs  to  your  pride,  as  your  medical 
man  I  order  you  to  get  Maggie  back.  I  don't  know 
Maggie,  but  I  prescribe  her,  and — damn  ye,  sir,  are 
ye  going  to  defy  me  again? 

Hobson.     I  tell  you  I  won't  have  it. 

Doctor.  You'll  have  to  have  it.  You're  a 
dunder-headed  lump  of  obstinacy,  but  I've  taken  a 
fancy  to  ye  and  I  decline  to  let  ye  kill  yeself . 

Hobson.  I've  escaped  from  the  thraldom  of  wo- 
men once,  and 

Doctor.  And  a  pretty  mess  you've  made  of  j^our 
liberty.  Now  this  Maggie  ye  mention — if  ye'll 
tell  me  where  she's  to  be  found,  I'll  just  stop  round 
and  have  a  crack  with  her  maself,  for  I've  gone  be- 
yond the  sparing  of  a  bit  of  trouble  over  ye. 

Hobson.     You'll  waste  your  time. 

Doctor.     I'll  cure  you,  Mr.  Hobson. 

Hobson.     She  won't  come  back. 
I  112  ] 


HOBSON'S  CHOICE  Act  III 

Doctor.  Oh.  Now  that's  a  possibUity.  K 
she's  a  sensible  body  I  concur  with  your  opinion  she'll 
no  come  back,  but  women  are  a  soft-hearted  race  and 
she'll  maybe  take  pity  on  ye  after  all. 

HoBSON.     I  want  no  pity. 

Doctor.  If  she's  the  woman  that  I  take  her  for 
ye'U  get  no  pity,     Ye'U  get  discipline. 

[HoBSON  tries  to  speak.] 
Don't  interrupt  me,  sir.     I'm  talking. 

HoBSON.     I've  noticed  it. 

Doctor.  You  asked  me  for  a  cure,  and  Maggie's 
the  name  of  the  cure  you  need.  Maggie,  sir,  do  you 
hesLT?    Maggie! 

[Enter  Maggie  left,  in  outdoor  clothes.] 

Maggie.     What  about  me? 

Doctor  [staggered  then].     Are  you  Maggie? 

Maggie.     I'm  Maggie. 

Doctor.     Ye'U  do. 

HoBSON  [getting  his  breath].  What  are  you  doing 
under  my  roof? 

Maggie.     I've  come  because  I  was  fetched. 

HoBsoN.    Who  fetched  you? 

Maggie.    Tubby  Wadlow. 

HoBSON  [rising].  Tubby  can  quit  my  shop  this 
minute. 

[113  1 


Act  III  HOBSON'S  CHOICE 

Doctor  [putting  him  back].  Sit  down,  Mr.  Hob- 
son. 

Maggie.     He  said  you're  dangerously  ill. 

Doctor.  He  is.  I'm  Doctor  Macfarlane.  Will 
you  come  and  live  here  agin? 

Maggie.     I'm  married. 

Doctor.     I  know  that,  Mrs. 

Maggie.     Mossop. 

Doctor.  Your  father's  drinking  himself  to 
death,  Mrs.  Mossop. 

HoBSON.  Look  here,  Doctor,  what's  passed  be- 
tween you  and  me  isn't  for  everybody's  ears. 

Doctor.  I  judge  your  daughter's  not  the  sort  to 
want  the  truth  wrapped  round  with  a  feather-bed 
for  fear  it  hits  her  hard. 

'NLaggie  [nodding  appreciatively].  Goon.  I'd  like 
to  hear  it  all. 

HoBSON.     Just  nasty-minded  curiosity. 

Doctor.  I  don't  agree  with  you,  Mr.  Hobson. 
If  Mrs.  Mossop  is  to  sacrifice  her  own  home  to 
come  to  you,  she's  every  right  to  know  the  reason 
why. 

Hobson.  Sacrifice!  If  you  saw  her  home  you'd 
find  another  word  than  that.  Two  cellars  in  Old- 
field  Road. 

[114] 


HOBSON'S  CHOICE  Act  III 

Maggie.     I'm  waiting.  Doctor. 

Doctor.  I've  a  constitutional  objection  to  see- 
ing patients  slip  through  me  fingers  when  it's  avoid- 
able, Mrs.  Mossop,  and  I'll  do  ma  best  for  your 
father,  but  ma  medicine  will  na  do  him  any  good  with- 
out your  medicine  to  back  me  up.  He  needs  a  tight 
hand  on  him  all  the  time. 

Maggie.  I've  not  the  chance  I  had  before  I 
married. 

Doctor.  Ye'll  have  no  chance  at  all  unless  ye 
come  and  live  here.  I  willna  talk  about  the  duty  of  a 
daughter  because  I  doubt  he's  acted  badly  by  ye, 
but  on  the  broad  grounds  of  humanity,  it's  saving 
life  if  ye'll  come 

Maggie.     I  might. 

Doctor.     Nay,  but  will  ye? 

Maggie.  You've  told  me  what  you  think.  The 
rest's  my  business. 

HoBSON.  That's  right,  Maggie.  [To  Doctor.] 
That's  what  you  get  for  interfering  with  folks' 
private  affairs.  So  now  you  can  go,  with  your  tail 
between  your  legs.  Doctor  Macfarlane. 

Doctor.  On  the  contrary,  I  am  going,  Mr.  Hob- 
son,  with  the  profound  conviction  that  I  leave  you 
in  excellent  hands.  One  prescription  is  on  the  table, 
[115] 


Art  III  HOBSON'S  CHOICE 

Mrs.  Mossop.     The  other  two  are  total  abstinence 
and — you. 

Maggie  [nodding  amiably].     Good  morning. 
Doctor.     Good  morning. 

[Exit  Doctor  left.     ^Iaggie  picks  up  prescrip- 
tion and  follows  to  door  left] 
Maggie.     Tubby ! 

[She  stands  by  door.  Tubby  just  enters  inside 
it.] 
Go  round  to  Oldfield  Road  and  ask  my  husband  to 
come  here  and  get  this  made  up  at  Hallows  on  your 
way  back. 

Tubby.     Yes,  Miss — Mrs.  Mossop. 

Maggie.     Tell  Mr.  Mossop  that  I  want  him  quick. 

[Tubby  nods  and  goes.] 
HoBSON.     Maggie,  you  know  I  can't  be  an  ab- 
stainer.    A  man  of  my  habits.     At  my  time  of  life. 
Maggie.     You  can  if  I  come  here  to  make  you. 
HoBSON.     Are  you  coming? 

Maggie.     I  don't  know  yet.     I  haven't  asked  my 
husband. 

HoBsoN.     You   ask  Will  Mossop!     Maggie,   I'd 
better  thoughts  of  you.     Making  an  excuse  like  that 
to  me.     If  you  want  to  come  you'll  come  so  what 
Will  Mossop  says  and  well  you  know  it. 
f  110  1 


HOBSON'S  CHOICE  Act  III 

Maggie.  I  don't  want  to  come,  father.  I  ex- 
pect no  holiday  existence  here  with  you  to  keep  in 
health.  But  if  Will  tells  me  it's  my  duty  I  shall 
come. 

HoBSON.  You  know  as  well  as  I  do  asking  Will's 
a  matter  of  form. 

Maggie.  Matter  of  form!  My  husband  a  mat- 
ter of  form !     He's  the 

IIoBSON.  I  daresay,  but  he  is  not  the  man  that 
wears  the  breeches  at  your  house. 

Maggie.  My  husband's  my  husband,  father,  so 
wliatever  else  he  is.  And  my  home's  my  home,  and 
all  and  what  you  said  of  it  now  to  Doctor  Macf  arlane's 
a  thing  you'll  pay  for.  It's  no  gift  to  a  married  wo- 
man to  come  back  to  the  home  she's  shut  of. 

HoBSON.  Look  here,  Maggie,  you're  talking 
straight  and  I'll  talk  straight  and  all.  When  I'm 
set  I'm  set.  You're  coming  here.  I  didn't  want  you 
when  that  doctor  said  it,  but,  by  gum,  I  want  you 
now.  It's  been  my  daughters'  hobby  crossing  me. 
Now  you'll  come  and  look  after  me. 

Maggie.     All  of  us.?^ 

HoBsoN.     No.     Not  all  of  you.     You're  eldest. 

Maggie.  There's  another  man  with  claims  on 
me. 

[117] 


Act  III  HOBSON'S  CHOICE 

HoBSON.  I'll  give  him  claims.  Aren't  I  your 
father? 

[Alice   enters   left.     She  is  rather  elaborately 
dressed  for  so  early  in  the  day.] 

Maggie.     And  I  am  not  your  only  daughter. 

Alice.     You  been  here  long,  Maggie? 

Maggie.     A  while. 

Alice.  Ah,  well,  a  fashionable  solicitor's  wife 
doesn't  rise  so  early  as  the  wife  of  a  working  cobbler. 
You'd  be  up  when  Tubby  came. 

Maggie.     A  couple  of  hours  earlier. 

Alice.  You're  looking  all  right,  father.  YouVe 
quite  a  color. 

HoBSON.     I'm  very  ill. 

Maggie.  He's  not  so  well,  Alice.  The  doctor 
says  one  of  us  must  come  and  live  here  to  look  after 
him. 

Alice.     I  live  in  the  Crescent  myself. 

Maggie.  I've  heard  it  was  that  way  on.  Some- 
body's home  will  have  to  go. 

Alice.  I  don't  think  I  can  be  expected  to  come 
back  to  this  after  what  I've  been  used  to  lately. 

HoBSON.     Alice ! 

Alice.  Well,  I  say  it  ought  to  be  Maggie,  father. 
She's  the  eldest. 

[118] 


HOBSON'S  CHOICE  Act  III 


HoBSON.     And  I  say  you  re 

[What  she  is  we  dont  learn,  as  Vickey  enters 
effectively  and  goes  effusively  to  Hobson.] 

Vickey.     Father,  you're  ill!    [Embracing  him.] 

Hobson.  Vickey!  My  baby!  At  last  I  find  a 
daughter  who  cares  for  me. 

Vickey.  Of  course  I  care.  Don't  the  others? 
[Releasing  herself  from  his  grasp.] 

Hobson.  You  will  live  with  me,  Vickey,  won't 
you? 

Vickey.     What?     [She  stands  away  from  him.] 

Maggie.     One  of  us  is  needed  to  look  after  him. 

Vickey.  Oh,  but  it  can't  be  me.  In  my  circum- 
stances, Maggie! 

Maggie.     What  circumstances? 

Alice.     Don't  you  know? 

Maggie.     No. 

[Vickey  whispers  to  Maggie.] 

Hobson.  What's  the  matter?  What  are  you  all 
whispering  about? 

Maggie.  Father,  don't  you  think  you  ought  to 
put  a  collar  on  before  Will  comes? 

Hobson.  Put  a  collar  on  for  Will  Mossop? 
There's  something  wrong  with  your  sense  of  propor- 
tion, my  girl. 

[119] 


Ad  III  HOBSON'S  CHOICE 

ViCKEY.  You're  always  pretending  to  folk  about 
your  husband,  Maggie,  but  you  needn't  keep  it  up 
with  us.     We  know  Will  here. 

Maggie.  Father,  I  can  go  home  or  you  can  go 
and  put  a  collar  on  for  Will.  I'll  have  him  treated 
with  respect. 

Alice.  I  expect  you'd  put  a  collar  on  in  any  case, 
father. 

HoBSON.  Of  course  I  should.  I'm  going  to 
put  one  on.  But  understand  me,  Maggie,  it's  not 
for  the  sake  of  Will  Mossop.  It's  because  my  neck 
is  cold. 

[Exit  HoBSON  centre. 

Maggie.     Now,  then,  which  of  us  is  it  to  be? 

ViCKEY.  It's  no  use  looking  at  me  like  that,  Mag- 
gie.    I've  told  you  I'm  expecting. 

Maggie.  I  don't  see  that  that  rules  you  out.  It 
might  happen  to  any  of  us. 

Alice.     Maggie! 

Maggie.  What's  the  matter?  Children  do  hap- 
pen to  married  women,  and  we're  all  married. 

Alice.  Well,  I'm  not  going  to  break  my  home  up 
and  that's  flat. 

Vickey.     My  child  comes  first  with  me. 

Maggie.     I  see.     You've  got  a  house  of  furniture, 
[120] 


HOBSON'S  CHOICE  Ad  III 

and  you've  got  a  child  coming,  so  father  can  drink 
himself  to  death  for  you. 

Alice.  That's  not  fair  speaking.  I*d  come  if 
there  were  no  one  else.  You  know  very  well  it's  your 
duty,  Maggie. 

ViCKEY.  Duty?  I  should  think  it  'ud  be  a  pleas- 
ure to  live  here  after  a  year  of  two  cellars. 

Maggie.  I've  had  thirty  years  of  the  pleasure  of 
living  with  father,  thanks. 

Alice.     Do  you  mean  to  say  you  won't  come? 

Maggie.  It  isn't  for  me  to  say  at  all.  It's  for 
my  husband. 

ViCKEY.  Oh,  do  stop  talking  about  your  husband. 
If  Alice  and  I  don't  need  to  ask  our  husbands,  I'm 
sure  you  never  need  ask  yours.  Will  Mossop  hasn't 
the  spirit  of  a  louse  and  we  know  it  as  well  as  you  do. 

Maggie.  Maybe  Will's  come  on  since  you  saw 
him,  Vickey.  It's  getting  a  while  ago.  There  he  is 
now  in  the  shop.     I'll  go  and  put  it  to  him. 

[Exit  Maggie  left 

Vickey.     Stop  her !     [Going  to  door.] 

Alice  [detaining  her].  Let  her  do  it  in  her  own 
way.     I'm  not  coming  back  here. 

Vickey.     Nor  me. 

Alice.     There's  only  Maggie  for  it. 
[  121  1 


Act  III  HOBSON'S  CHOICE 

ViCKEY.  Yes.  But  we've  got  to  be  careful, 
Alice.     She  mustn't  have  things  too  much  her  way. 

Alice.     It's  our  way  as  well,  isn't  it.^* 

ViCKEY.  Not  coming  is  our  way.  But  when 
she's  with  him  alone  and  we're  not [Stopping.] 

Alice.     Yes. 

ViCKEY.  Can't  you  see  what  I'm  thinking,  Alice .^ 
It  is  so  different  to  say.  Suppose  poor  father  gets^ 
worse  and  they  are  here,  Maggie  and  Will,  and  yoa 
and  I — out  of  sight  and  out  of  mind.  Can't  you  see 
what  I  mean? 

Alice.     He  might  leave  them  his  money ! 

ViCKEY.     That  would  be  most  unfair  to  us. 

Alice.  Father  must  make  his  will  at  once.  Al- 
bert shall  draw  it  up. 

ViCKEY.  That's  it,  Alice.  And  don't  let's  leave 
Maggie  too  long  with  Will.  She's  only  telling  him 
what  to  say,  and  then  she'll  pretend  he  thought  of  it 
himself.  [She  opens  door  left.]  Why,  Will,  what  are 
you  doing  up  the  ladder? 

Willie  [off  left].     I'm  looking  over  the  stock. 

ViCKEY  [indignantlij].  It's  father's  stock,  not 
yours. 

Willie.     That's  so.     But  if  I'm  to  come  into  a 
thing  I  like  to  know  what  I'm  coming  into. 
[  122  1 


HOBSON'S  CHOICE  Act  III 

Alice.     That's  never  Willie  Mossop. 
VicKEY  [still  by  door].     Are  you  coming  into  this? 
[Wii.1^  enters  left.    Maggie  follows  him.     He  is 
not  aggressive,  but  he  is  prosperous  and  has 
self-confidence.     Against  Alice  and  Vickey 
he  is  consciously  on  his  mettle.] 
Willie.     That's  the  proposal,  isn't  it? 
Vickey.     I  didn't  know  it  was. 
Willie.     Now,  then,  Maggie,  go  and  bring  your 
father  down  and  be  sharp.     I'm  busy  at  my  shop, 
so  .what  they  are  at  his. 

[Maggie  crosses  and  exits  centre. 
It's  been  a  good  business  in  its  day,  too,  has  Hobson's. 
Alice.    What  on  earth  do  you  mean?     It's  a  good 
business  still. 

Willie.     You  try  to  sell  it,  and  you'd  learn.    Stock 
and  goodwill  'ud  fetch  about  two  hundred. 

Vickey.     Don't  talk  so  foolish,  Will.     Two  hun- 
dred for  a  business  like  father's! 

Willie.     Two  hundred  as  it  is.     Not  as  it  was  in 
our  time,  Vickey. 

Alice.     Do  you  mean   to   tell   me   father   isn't 
rich? 

Willie.     If  you'd  not  married  into  the  law  you'd 
know  what  they  thifik  of  your  father  to-day  in  trad- 
[  123] 


Act  III  HOBSON'S  CHOICE 

ing  circles.  Vickey  ought  to  know.  Her  husband's 
in  trade. 

Vickey  [indignantly].     My  Fred  in  trade! 

Willie.     Isn't  he? 

Vickey.  He's  in  the  wholesale.  That's  business, 
not  trade.  And  the  value  of  father's  shop  is  no 
affair  of  yours,  Will  Mossop. 

Willie.  Now  I  thought  maybe  it  was.  If  Mag- 
gie and  me  are  coming  here 

Vickey.     You're  coming  to  look  after  father. 

Willie.  Maggie  can  do  that.  I'll  look  after  the 
business. 

Alice.     You'll  do  what's  arranged  for  you. 

Willie.  I'll  do  the  arranging,  Alice.  If  we  come 
here,  we  come  here  on  my  terms. 

Vickey.     They'll  be  fair  terms. 

Willie.     I'll  see  they're  fair  to  me  and  Maggie. 

Alice.  Will  Mossop,  do  you  know  who  you're 
talking  to? 

Willie.  Aye.  My  wife's  young  sisters.  Times 
have  changed  a  bit  since  you  used  to  order  me  about 
this  shop,  haven't  they,  Alice? 

Alice.     Yes.     I'm  Mrs.  Albert  Prosser  now. 

Willie.  So  you  are,  to  outsiders.  xVnd  you'd 
be  surprised  the  number  of  people  that  call  me  Mr. 
f  124  1 


HOBSON'S  CHOICE  Act  III 

Mossop  now.     We  do  get  on  in  the  world,  don't 
we? 

ViCKEY.     Some  folks  get  on  too  fast. 

Willie.     It's  a  matter  of  opinion.     I  know  Mag- 
gie and  me  gave  both  of  you  a  big  leg  up  when  we 
arranged  your  marriage  portions,  but  I  dunno  that 
we're  grudging  you  the  sudden  lift  you  got. 
[Etiter  HoBSON  and  Maggie  centre.] 

Willie.  Good  morning,  father.  I'm  sorry  to 
hear  you're  not  so  well. 

HoBSON.  I'm  a  changed  man,  Will.  [He  crosses 
and  sits  on  sofa.] 

Willie  [sitting  by  table].  There  used  to  be  room 
for  improvement. 

HoBsoN.     What!     [He  starts  up.] 

Maggie.     Sit  down,  father. 

Willie.  Aye.  Don't  let  us  be  too  long  about 
this.  You've  kept  me  waiting  now  a  good  while 
and  my  time's  valuable.     I'm  busy  at  my  shop. 

HoBSON.  Is  your  shop  more  important  than  my  life  ? 

Willie.  That's  a  bit  like  asking  if  a  pound  of  tea 
weighs  heavier  than  a  pound  of  lead.  I'm  worried 
about  your  life  because  it  worrits  Maggie,  but  I'm 
none  worritted  that  bad  I'll  see  my  business  suffer  for 
the  sake  of  you. 

[125] 


Act  III  HOBSON'S  CHOICE 

HoBSON.  This  isn't  what  IVe  a  right  to  expect 
from  you,  Will. 

Willie.  You've  no  right  to  expect  I  care  whether 
you  sink  or  swim. 

Maggie.     Will! 

Willie.  What's  to  do?  You  told  me  to  take  a 
high  hand,  didn't  you? 

Alice.  And  we're  to  stay  here  and  watch  Maggie 
and  Will  abusing  father  when  he's  ill. 

Willie.     No  need  for  you  to  stay. 

HoBsoN.     That's  a  true  word.  Will  Mossop. 

Vickey.  Father !  You  take  his  side  against  your 
flesh  and  blood. 

HoBSON.  That  doesn't  come  too  well  from  you, 
my  girl.  Neither  of  you  would  leave  your  homes  to 
come  to  care  for  me.  You're  not  for  me,  so  you're 
against  me. 

Alice.  We're  not  against  you,  father.  We  want 
to  stay  and  see  that  Will  deals  fairly  by  you. 

HoBSON.  Oh,  I'm  not  capable  of  looking  after 
myself,  amn't  I?  I've  to  be  protected  by  you  girls 
lest  I'm  overreached,  and  overreached  by  whom? 
By  Willie  Mossop!  I  may  be  ailing,  but  I've  fight 
enough  left  in  me  for  a  dozen  such  as  him,  and  if 
you're  thinking  that  the  manhood's  gone  from  me, 
[126] 


HOBSON'S  CHOICE  Act  III 

you  can  go  and  think  it  somewhere  else  than  in  my 
house. 

ViCKEY.     But  fatherr^dear  father 

HoBSON.  I'm  not  so  dear  to  you  if  you'd  to  think 
twice  about  coming  here  to  do  for  me,  let  alone  jib- 
bing at  it  the  way  you  did.  A  proper  daughter  would 
have  jumped — aye,  skipped  like  a  calf  by  the  cedars 
of  Lebanon — at  the  thought  6f  being  helpful  to  her 
father. 

Alice.    Did  Maggie  skip?      \ 

HoBsoN.  She's  a  bit  ancient  foi'  skipping  exercise, 
is  Maggie;  but  she's  coming  round  to  reconcilement 
with  the  thought  of  living  here,  an^  that  is  more 
than  you  are  doing,  Alice,  isn't  it?  Ei^^  Are  you 
willing  to  come? 

Alice  [sullenly].     No. 

HoBSON.     Or  you,  Vickey? 

ViCKEY.     It's  my  child,  father.     I 

HoBsoN.  Never  mind  what  it  is.  Are  you  for 
coming  or  not? 

Vickey.     No. 

HoBSON.  Then  you  that  aren't  willing  can  leave 
me  to  talk  with  them  that  are. 

Alice.     Do  you  mean  that  we're  to  go? 

HoBSON.     I  understand  you've  homes  to  go  to. 
f  127  1 


Act  III  HOBSON'S  CHOICE 

Alice.     Oh,  father! 

HoBsoN.     Open  the  door  for  them,  Will. 
[Will  opens.] 

ViCKEY  [passing  him].     Beggars  on  horseback. 

[ViCKEY  goes  out, 

Willie.     Nay,  come,  there's  no  ill-will. 

[Alice  goes  out. 

Maggie  [hy  door].  We'll  be  glad  to  see  you  here 
at  tea-time  on  a  Sunday  afternoon  if  you'll  conde- 
scend to  come  sometimes. 

[Will  closes  door.    He  and  Maggie  sit.] 

HoBSON.     Now,  my  lad,  I'll  tell  you  what  I'll  do. 

Willie.  Aye,  we  can  come  to  grips  better  now 
there  are  no  fine  ladies  about. 

HoBsoN.  They've  got  stiff  necks  with  pride,  and 
the  difference  between  you  two  and  them's  a  thing  I 
ought  to  mark  and  that  I'm  going  to  mark.  There's 
times  for  holding  back  and  times  for  letting  loose, 
and  being  generous./  Now,  you're  coming  here,  to 
this  house,  both  of  you,  and  you  can  have  the  back 
bedroom  for  your  own  and  the  use  of  this  room  split 
along  with  me.  Maggie  'ull  keep  house,  and  if  she's 
time  to  spare  she  can  lend  a  hand  in  the  shop.  I'm 
finding  Will  a  job.  You  can  come  back  to  your  old 
bench  in  the  cellar.  Will,  and  I'll  pay  you  the  old 
f  128  1 


HOBSON'S  CHOICE  Act  III 

wage  of  eighteen  shillings  a  week  and  you  and  me  'ull 
go  equal  whacks  in  the  cost  of  the  housekeeping,  and 
if  that's  not  handsome,  I  dunno  what  is.  I'm  find- 
ing you  a  house  rent  free  and  paying  half  the  keep  of 
your  wife. 

Willie.     Come  home,  Maggie.     [He  rises.] 

Maggie.     I  think  I'll  have  to.     [She  rises.] 

HoBSON.     Whatever 's  the  hurry  for? 

Willie.  It  may  be  news  to  you,  but  I've  a  busi- 
ness round  in  Oldfield  Road  and  I'm  neglecting  it 
with  wasting  my  time  here. 

HoBSON.     Wasting    time.?     Maggie,    what's    the 
matter  with  Will?     I've  made  him  a  proposal. 
[Will  is  by  door.] 

Maggie.  He's  a  shop  of  his  own  to  see  to, 
father. 

HoBSON  [incredulous].  A  man  who's  offered  a  job 
at  Hobson's  doesn't  want  to  worry  with  a  shop  of  his 
own  in  a  wretched  cellar  in  Oldfield  Road. 

Willie.     Shall  I  tell  him,  Maggie,  or  shall  we  go? 

HoBSON.  Go!  I  don't  want  to  keep  a  man 
who 

Maggie.  If  he  goes,  I  go  with  him,  father. 
You'd  better  speak  out.  Will. 

Willie.     All  right,  I  will.     We've  been  a  year  in 
[1^9] 


Act  III  HOBSON'S  CHOICE 

yon  wretched  cellar  and  do  you  know  whatweVe 
done?  We've  paid  off  Mrs.  Hepworth  what  she  lent 
us  for  our  start  and  made  a  bit  o'  brass  on  top  o' 
that.  We've  got  your  high-class  trade  away  from 
you.  That  shop's  a  cellar,  and  as  you  say,  it's 
wretched,  but  they  come  to  us  in  it,  and  they  don't 
come  to  you.  Your  trade's  gone  down  till  all  you  sell 
is  clogs.  You've  got  no  trade,  and  me  and  Maggie's 
got  it  all  and  now  you're  on  your  bended  knees  to 
her  to  come  and  live  with  you,  and  all  you  think  to 
offer  me  is  my  old  job  at  eighteen  shillings  a  week. 
Me  that's  the  owner  of  a  business  that  is  starving 
yours  to  death. 

HoBSON.  But — but — you're  Will  Mossop,  you're 
my  old  shoe  hand. 

Willie.  Aye.  I  were,  but  I've  a  move  on  me 
since  then.  Yom*  daughter  married  lae  and  set  about 
my  education.  And — and  now  I'll  tell  you  what 
I'll  do  and  it'll  be  the  handsome  thing  and  all  from 
me  to  you.     I'll  close  my  shop 

HoBSON.  Oh .5^  That  doesn't  sound  like  doing 
so  well. 

Willie.  I'm  doing  well,  but  I'll  do  better  here. 
I'll  transfer  to  this  address  and  what  I'll  do  that's 
generous  is  this:  I'll  take  you  into  partnership  and 
f  130  1 


HOBSON'S  CHOICE  Act  III 

give  you  your  half-share  on  the  condition  you're 
sleeping  partner  and  you  don't  try  interference  on 
with  me. 

HoBSON.     A  partner!     You — here 

Willie.  William  Mossop,  late  Hobson,  is  the 
name  this  shop  'uU  have. 

Maggie.  Wait  a  bit,  Will.  I  don't  agree  to 
that. 

Hobson.  Oh,  so  you  have  piped  up  at  last.  I 
began  to  think  you'd  both  lost  your  senses  to- 
gether. 

Maggie.     It  had  better  not  be  "late  Hobson." 

Willie.     Well,  I  meant  it  should. 

Hobson.  Just  wait  a  bit.  I  want  to  know  if  I'm 
taking  this  in  aright.  I'm  to  be  given  a  half -share 
in  my  own  business  on  condition  I  take  no  part  in 
running  it.     Is  that  what  you  said.^^ 

Willie.     That's  it. 

Hobson.  Well,  I've  heard  of  impudence  before, 
but 

Maggie.     It's  all  right,  father. 

Hobson.     But  did  you  hear  what  he  said.^^ 

Maggie.     Yes.     That's    settled.     Quite    settled, 
father.     It's  only  the  name  we're  arguing  about.     I 
won't  have  "late  Hobson's,"  Will. 
[1311 


Act  III  HOBSON'S  CHOICE 

HoBSON.  I'm  not  dead,  yet,  my  lad,  and  I'll  show 
you  I'm  not. 

Maggie.     I  think  Hobson  and  Mossop  is  best. 

HoBSON.     His  name  on  my  sign-board! 

Willie.  The  best  I'll  do  is  this:  Mossop  and 
Hobson. 

Maggie.    No. 

Willie.  Mossop  and  Hobson  or  it's  Oldfield 
Road  for  us,  Maggie.     [By  door.] 

Maggie.     Very  well.     Mossop  and  Hobson. 

Hobson.     But 

Willie  [opening  door,  and  looking  through].  I'll 
make  some  alterations  in  this  shop,  and  all.  I  will  so. 
[He  goes  through  door  and  returns  at  once  with  a  bat- 
tered cane  chair.] 

Hobson.     Alterations  in  my  shop ! 

Willie.  In  mine.  Look  at  that  chair.  How  can 
you  expect  the  high-class  customers  to  come  and  sit 
on  a  chair  like  that?  Why,  we'd  only  a  cellar,  but 
they  did  sit  on  cretonne  for  their  trying  on. 

Hobson.     Cretonne!     It's  pampering  folk. 

Willie.     Cretonne  for  a  cellar,  and  morocco  for 
this  shop.     Folk  like  to  be  pampered.     Pampering 
pays.     [He  takes  the  chair  out  and  returns  immedi- 
ately.]    There'll  be  a  carpet  on  that  floor,  too. 
[132] 


HOBSON'S  CHOICE  Act  III 

HoBSON.  Carpet!  Morocco!  Young  man,  do 
you  think  this  shop  is  in  Saint  Ann's  Square,  Man- 
chester? 

Willie.     Not  yet.     But  it  is  going  to  be. 

HoBSON.  What  does  he  mean?  [Appealing  to 
heaven.] 

Willie.  It's  no  farther  from  Chapel  Street  to 
Saint  Ann's  Square  than  it  is  from  Oldfield  Road  to 
Chapel  Street.  I've  done  one  jump  in  a  year  and  if 
I  wait  a  bit  I'll  do  the  other.  Maggie,  I  reckon  your 
father  could  do  with  a  bit  of  fresh  air  after  this.  I 
daresay  it's  come  sudden  to  him.  Suppose  you  walk 
with  him  to  Albert  Prosser's  office  and  get  Albert 
to  draw  up  the  deed  of  partnership. 

HoBsoN  [looking  pathetically  first  at  Maggie,  then 
at  Willie,  rising  obediently].     I'll  go  and  get  my  hat. 

[Exit  HoBsON  centre. 

Willie.  He's  crushed-like,  Maggie.  I'm  afraid 
I  bore  on  him  too  hard. 

Maggie.     You  needn't  be. 

Willie,  i-said  such  ihiiigs  to  liim,  and  they 
sounded  as  if  I  meant  them,  too. 

Maggie.     Didn't  you"^ 

Willie.  Did  I?  Yes  ...  I  suppose  I  did. 
That's  just  the  worst  .  .  .  from  me  to  him. 
[133  1 


Act  III  HOBSON'S  CHOICE 

You  told  me  to  be  strong  and  use  the  power  that's 
come  to  me  through  you,  but  he's  the  old  master, 
and 

Maggie.     And  you're  the  new. 

Willie.  Master  of  Hobson's!  It's  an  outrageous 
idea.     Did  I  sound  confident,  Maggie? 

Maggie.     You  did  all  right. 

Willie.  Eh,  but  I  weren't  by  half  so  certain  as 
.1  sounded.  Words  came  from  my  mouth  that  made 
me  jump  at  my  own  boldness,  and  when  it  came  to 
facing  you  about  the  name,  T  tell  you  I  fair  trembled 
in  my  shoes.  I  was  carried  away  like,  or  I'd  not 
have  dared  to  cross  you,  Maggie. 

Maggie.  Don't  spoil  it,  Will.  You're  the  man 
I've  made  you  and  I'm  proud. 

Willie.  Thy  pride  is  not  in  same  street,  lass, 
with  the  pride  I  have  in  you.  And  that  reminds  me. 
I've  a  job  to  see  to. 

Maggie.    What  job.^^ 

Willie.     Oh — about  the  improvements. 

Maggie.  You'll  not  do  owt  without  consulting 
me. 

Willie.     I'll  do  this,  lass.     [Takes  her  hand.] 

Maggie.     What  are  you  doing?     You  leave  my 
wedding  ring  alone.     [Wrenches  hand  free.] 
[134  1 


HOBSON'S  CHOICE  Act  III 

Willie.     You've  worn  a  brass  one  long  enough. 

Maggie.     I'll  wear  that  ring  forever,  Will. 

Willie.  I  was  for  getting  you  a  proper  one, 
Maggie. 

Maggie.  I'm  not  preventing  you.  I'll  wear  your 
gold  for  show,  but  that  brass  stays  where  you  put  it. 
Will,  and  if  we  get  too  rich  and  proud  we'll  just  sit 
down  together  quiet  and  take  a  long  look  at  it,  so  as 
we'll  not  forget  the  truth  about  ourselves. 

[Enter  Hobson  centre  with  his  hat  on.] 

Maggie.  Ready,  father.  Come  along  to  Al- 
bert's. 

HoBSON  [meekly].     Yes,  Maggie. 
[They  cross  together  to  left.] 

curtain 


STUDY   OUTLINE 

FOR 

HOBSON'S  CHOICE 

*'  Hobson's  Choice"  is  generally  regarded  as  an  ex- 
ample of  the  Folk  Drama.  Discuss  the  specific  fea- 
tures of  this  school.  Its  preoccupation  with  the  life 
of  the  humbler  classes  of  society.  Its  value  in  pre- 
senting intimate  and  vivid  studies  of  local  types. 
Does  this  in  any  way  limit  the  universality  of  the 
appeal.^  Does  it  not,  on  the  contrary,  actually 
widen  the  appeal.^ 

Analyze  the  leading  traits  of  the  Lancashire  char- 
acter as  depicted  in  "  Hobson's  Choice."  Those  who 
are  in  a  position  to  know  say  that  Maggie  Hobson  is 
not  overdrawn  for  the  purposes  of  the  comedy,  that  she 
is  a  typical  Lancashire  woman.   Discuss  her  character. 

It  has  been  objected  that  the  year  which  is  supposed 
to  elapse  between  the  third  and  fourth  acts  is  not  long 
enough  to  permit  of  Willie  Mossop's  development 
from  the  shy  and  awkward  workman  to  the  self- 
confident  and  successful  shopkeeper.  Is  this  criticism 
valid  .f^  Does  not  the  author  from  the  very  beginning 
lead  one  to  anticipate  it.f^  Allowing  for  Maggie's  in- 
fluence is  it,  or  is  it  not,  defensible? 

Compare  "Hobson's  Choice"  with  other  examples  of 
the  Folk  Drama — "Change"  and  "Kindhng"  in  this 
series,  also  M  isefield's  "  Nan"  and  the  plays  WTitten 
for  the  Irish  Theatre.  How  does  "  Hobson's  Choice" 
compare  with  these  plays  in  point  of  view,  method 
of  construction,  dialogue,  characterization,  etc. 


14  DAY  USE 

RETURN  TO  DESK  FROM  WHICH  BORROWED 
LOAN  DEPT. 

This  book  is  due  on  the  last  date  stamped  below,  or 

on  the  date  to  which  renewed. 

Renewed  books  are  subject  to  immediate  recall. 


yUK  111982 


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